


A Cut Above

by coffeeandcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asperger Syndrome, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Barber Dean Winchester, Dating, Dean/Cas Big Bang, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2018, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Parent Castiel, Past Character Death, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 05:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandcas/pseuds/coffeeandcas
Summary: Castiel hasn’t been on a date in a very long time. In fact, he can barely remember the last time he even had a first date. Long before the birth of his son, and the loss of his wife. It’s been him and Noah for years and he doubts he would even have room for a new partner in his life.But when a new barber shop springs up in the centre of town, the owner has a certain type of roguish charm that he seems powerless to resist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so I have a few people to thank for their wonderful input on this story. This is my first ever DCBB contribution so I was nervous to take it on, but now forever thankful that I did.
> 
> Thanks initially to the [andreavis](https://www.facebook.com/groups/115057981983004/about/) for beta reading and for the corrections and tips. You saved a few hilariously embarrassing autocorrects, I'm sure!
> 
> And finally, to my wonderful artist [lotrspnfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrspnfangirl/pseuds/lotrspnfangirl) for their amazing work. I was truly blown away by the images you created for this story, so thank you for all your time and effort ♥ [Here is the link to the art masterpost](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717086), so please check it out and give it all the love.
> 
> If you're a regular reader of mine then you'll know I don't post complete works at once, so this is a new experience for me - I hope you enjoy it and please leave a comment at the end if you feel like it to let me know what you think. ♥

“Daddy. Daddy, look!”

Castiel glances up from his cell phone at the sound of his son’s voice a few steps behind him and frowns. He hadn't even noticed Noah wasn't walking beside him anymore; he was engrossed in a text message from his brother attempting to arrange a playdate for the kids, and he retraces his steps guiltily. 

“Yes, buddy? What is it?”

Noah, chocolate-haired with sparkling blue eyes, doesn't answer. He simply raises his arm and points, and Castiel follows his finger with his eyes. He casts around for a second, unsure what to look for. Noah is pointing across the street, the crowded, noisy tangle of streetcars and trucks and estates, bikes weaving in and out at frightening speed. But eventually he spots it: the red and white barber shop pole spinning lazily, candy-striped and freshly painted, and he smiles fondly. No wonder that caught Noah’s keen eye. He loves colours and shapes, likes it when they move rhythmically together, and in the midst of the inner-city chaos it's delightfully soothing to watch as it spins. 

He looks a little closer at the shop, sandwiched between a  _ PetSmart _ and a cafe proudly proclaiming it serves vegan baked goods. It’s new, that much is clear. The name  _ Styles ‘n Smiles _ shines out brightly from a hand-painted, cursive sign above the door, and Castiel would definitely have noticed it before now as this is his daily walk home with Noah from school. The shop looks bright and inviting, freshly painted in red, black and white with a vintage feel, and it’s no surprise that Noah has noticed it and is instantly captivated.  

“Can we go a bit closer, please?” Bright blue eyes turn expectantly to him and Castiel reaches for Noah’s hand with a smile. His son is always so polite when he asks for anything, his smile sweet and innocent, and Castiel finds it very difficult to deny him anything. He tries to tame a wild lock of Noah’s dark hair but gives up as his son squirms away from him, frowning and reaching up to correct Castiel’s faffing.

They cross the street at the next set of lights, doubling back to the barber shop with Noah pulling a little at Castiel’s hand in his excitement. Normally he would be wrinkling up his nose at the gasoline fumes and cars honking at each other, and would be sticking close to his father’s side, but his excitement has temporarily overridden his discomfort.

They come to a stop outside the shop and Noah releases Castiel’s hand, staring up in wonder.

“I like it, Daddy. I like how it spins.” 

Noah is standing perfectly still, staring up at the rotating pole outside the barber shop with a peaceful expression on his face, the same one he gets when he's sorting out his Lego blocks or completing a sticker book with razor-sharp precision. He likes order, control, method and repetition, and Castiel likes to see his son happy. 

“Can we stay here and watch it for a while, please?” 

Loathe to just say no and  drag him off, risking triggering one of Noah’s meltdowns, Castiel crouches in front of his son and waits for him to meet his gaze. 

“We have to go to the market, then to the bakery, remember? I promised you could have one of the cinnamon rolls that you loved last time. I’m getting one too, and we can eat them in front of the TV after dinner.”

“Oh.” 

Noah looks down at the ground, considering. Castiel knows this could go one of two ways: Noah could accept the offer of the market and sweet treats and go with him happily, or he could dig his heels in and refuse to move. And from that point, things could potentially get a little rough. His son has a stubborn streak a mile wide, and Castiel has learned over the years that if Noah doesn’t understand the logical reasoning behind something he’s very unlikely to go along with it.

Noah is gazing up at the pole again, his jaw set in a determined manner that looks scarily familiar and reminds Castiel starkly of himself, and it’s evident that he may need a little more weight to his argument if he wants to get to the market any time soon. From his pocket, Castiel produces a toy and hands it to Noah who takes it carefully, eyes lighting up. It's a Rubix cube, one designed for children and he's completed it before after much deliberating; Castiel knows it's one of his favourite toys so he does feel a little nip of guilt for using it to distract Noah but he really does need to get to the market.

Trying to hold in a grumble of discomfort, he adjusts his squatted stance (damn, his knees aren't what they used to be) and looks around them. 

Through the window of the barber shop, Castiel can see someone moving around inside and he squints against the reflection of sunlight on the glass to get a better look. It's a guy, tall and bow-legged judging by his gait as he crosses the room, but Castiel can't make out his features properly. As though sensing he's being watched the guy suddenly turns towards the window and Castiel drops his gaze guiltily, turning back to his son who is turning the Rubix cube over and over in his hands, frowning at it in consternation. 

“So, shall we get going? Head to the market?” Hopeful, Castiel holds out a hand to Noah who looks at it suspiciously for a moment before reaching out to take it. In his other hand he clutches the Rubix cube tightly to his chest as though someone is going to take it from him and looks down at his toes. 

“Yes,” he whispers, barely audible. “We can go to the market now. Please can we come back tomorrow?”

“Of course we can, sweetheart. I promise.”

Castiel straightens up, casts a furtive glance into the window of the barber shop before they walk away, and is sure he sees a flash of green eyes and a curious smile in his peripheral vision. 

Night-time is often the best and worst part of Castiel’s day. Putting Noah to bed can be a real challenge, yet when his son wakes long into the night and crawls into his bed for sleepy cuddles and reassurance, Castiel knows he's found true happiness. Noah shies away so much from physical contact from everyone, sometimes even from Castiel, that the moments spent holding him against his chest in the hours before dawn are precious and to be enjoyed while he can. 

Tonight has been both a challenge and a reward. 

Noah had been fretful and restless, unable to complete his Rubix cube before bedtime and as a result had become angry and obstinate when Castiel had begun their nightly routine. The glass of milk and homemade oatmeal cookie that Noah always has before brushing his teeth were rudely dismissed, and his son had bunched himself into a corner in the bathroom between the sink and the shower and had buried his face in his hands, refusing to come out and making low keening sounds whenever Castiel tried to coax him out. 

“I don't want to go to bed yet!” he sobbed, with dry cheeks and fire behind his blue eyes. “It's not fair!”

“Noah. It's ten minutes past your bedtime and you know as well as I do that you need to get some sleep. Come out and brush your teeth, please.”

That had gone on for a while, and by the time he had read Noah his bedtime story, tucked him in with his stuffed Eeyore toy for comfort and kissed him on the forehead, Castiel was exhausted, rattled, and contemplating just calling it a day and heading to bed himself despite the early hour. Instead, he headed back downstairs and collapses onto the couch with a beer, turning the TV on to a documentary about honey bees and tuning out for a while. When he had finally crawled up to bed, he’d fallen asleep with his glasses on and a worn copy of  _ Don Juan _ open on his chest, only to be woken by Noah padding in to see him in the early hours.

It’s now close to dawn and Noah is sleeping peacefully, curled against Castiel’s side and tucked under his arm like a baby bear. His son smells of the watermelon soap that he likes so much and he’s sucking his thumb, Eeyore pulled tightly in against his chest, his dark lashes resting peacefully on his pale cheeks. Castiel pulls him a little closer and runs the fingers of his other hand through his son’s dark hair, content to watch him sleep. It’s something he’s done since Noah was little, watch him as he dreams. It’s restful, and Castiel’s heart swells with love for the boy in his arms.

It’s taken them both a long time to get to this place, where they’re finally settled and happy. Six months ago, there were still boxes piled in Castiel’s living room and it had taken an intervention from his friend Balthazar and cousin Michael to get him to finally unpack properly. Noah had lamented the loss of the boxes as he loved to play with them and build forts, but they’d got around that by building him a jungle gym in the sprawling yard instead. Castiel smiles now as he remembers that weekend, spent beneath the hot summer sun as Balthazar and Michael argued incessantly over the assembly of the IKEA furniture and Noah watched with wide, excited eyes and yelped with joy when it was all finally finished. Watching him learn how to hang from it upside down and learn how to do the monkey bars has been incredible, and Castiel knows Noah misses playing outside now that the days are beginning to cool and the nights are drawing in.

His child is resilient, Castiel knows that through and through. He’s handled everything extremely well, better even than Castiel himself, and has been a source of strength through the tough days. His wife Meg had passed away suddenly three years ago, leaving Castiel to stumble through life with Noah without knowing what the next day would bring and how to handle it all, and it’s only recently that he’s started to feel like everything is falling into place and that he’s ready to move on. Although, moving on is the last thing on his mind. He doesn’t have a clue how he would introduce someone new to Noah, or how they would fit into his life as he’s so incredibly busy all the time. Taking Noah to school and to chess club and the library, grocery shopping, volunteering on Friday mornings at the homeless shelter, plus his own job at the local bookstore – after all that is said and done he’s normally too exhausted to do anything but fall onto the sofa and doze off with a book. Any spare time is spent with his son, and the miniscule amount that remains after that is spent with his best friends who continually lament the absence of any new romantic interests in his life. Their ribbing is gentle and kind-hearted, but he knows they think he should be considering a life for himself beyond his child. He can’t just exist for Noah, and he knows that, but stepping out into the dating world again is somewhat daunting.

No, scratch that. It’s fucking terrifying, and he doesn’t know how anyone does it.

He turns over, gathering Noah against his chest as the morning light begins to spill in angled shafts across the bed, and combs his son’s unruly hair with his fingers. It sticks up in dark tufts, never wanting to lie flat. He knows Noah is really getting a bit too old for co-sleeping, but with all the upheaval over the last few years he figures it’s okay to bend the rules a little. His little boy stirs against his chest then settles, and Castiel watches the sun rise outside over Noah’s shoulder.

He’s content, just him and Noah. But sometimes, just sometimes, he thinks it would be quite nice to have someone there to wake up to. That it would be pleasant to come downstairs and see two coffee mugs sitting beside the espresso machine instead of one. That cooking for three would be more satisfying than making Noah’s dinner then living off burritos and boxed Mac n Cheese himself. 

Maybe one day, in the near or far-flung future, falling asleep alone can become a thing of the past once more.   

Saturday morning rolls around, and Castiel and Noah are walking through the city once more to go to the farmer’s market. Noah is carrying the list and scrutinising it intently as he walks, while Castiel holds him by the hand and stops him from walking into pillars, other people, or tripping over dog leads. As promised, Castiel had taken Noah back the following day to see the barber shop pole - and every day after that for almost a week. He's pretty sure the guy who owns it, who he's still never caught more than a glimpse of, probably thinks he's a grade A weirdo by now but he's long past caring what other people think. If he has to do something a little out of the ordinary to make Noah happy, so be it. 

“Look, Noah. We're right by the barber shop. Do you want to stop for a minute and look at the pole?”

“Yes, please.” Noah folds up the list neatly and reaches up to put it in Castiel’s pocket. They both stand for a moment, gazing up at the pole, Noah entranced and Castiel deep in thought about their plans for the rest of the day. 

After a moment or two he reaches out for Noah who inches away from him, opens his mouth to say that they really need to get going, but the words never quite manage to leave his lips. 

“Good mornin’,” rumbles a deep, definitely male voice from behind them and Castiel turns to greet the man in response but his reply never quite takes shape. 

Leaning against the doorframe of  _ Styles ‘n Smiles  _ with his arms folded is, quite easily, the most handsome guy Castiel has ever laid eyes on. He's tall and broad, dressed in a plain black t-shirt which hugs his biceps and soft blue jeans with ratty hems over comfy-looking All Stars. And he has such captivating green eyes that Castiel finds himself staring openly, wondering if their colour is real or if the guy wears contacts. It's only when he realises the guy is staring back that he blinks, blushes, and fumbles for Noah’s hand. 

“Sorry. We don't mean to loiter. We're just on our way…”

But his feeble apologies die on his lips as the guy gives him a warm, welcoming smile flashing his straight white teeth, then crouches down to Noah’s height. 

“Hey there, buddy. You like that?” The guy points upward at the slowly revolving candy-striped pole above the barber shop and Noah nods, still looking at it. “I painted it myself. Kinda pleased with the end result, tell the truth. I'm not much of an artist but I think that looks kinda cool.”

“I think it does, too,” Noah says in a very small voice, inching closer to Castiel so that his father is within reach. “I like the colours. It looks like a candy cane.”

“It sure does. You're one smart cookie.”

“I'm not a cookie. I'm a boy, and I'm eight years old, and my name is Noah.”

The man laughs kindly, the sound deep and rich. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Noah. I’m glad you like my shop.”

“What kind of shop is it?” Noah turns to the guy and regards him critically. “What does it sell?”

“Well, I guess I sell my services. I’m a barber, I cut people’s hair. Keep ‘em lookin’ their best.”

“I see,” Noah nods gravely and Castiel has to stifle a laugh. His kid is always very serious, and faced with this guy’s easy charm it only stands out a little more - and his heart warms for his son. 

The guy laughs gently, fine lines tugging pleasantly at his mouth and eyes as he does, and Castiel feels a frisson of warmth run through him at the apparent ease of the conversation. It's normal for him to feel some level of anxiety when Noah meets anybody new, and he often feels like he has to explain to strangers that Noah has Asperger’s and that's why he acts the way he does. He's had to field a lot of questions - some pleasant and some decidedly not - about his son over the years and it's made his default setting somewhat defensive. But this guy right here, kneeling in the dust in front of his kid and smiling genuinely at him, there's something different about him. It’s intriguing to Castiel, as is the fact that his heart rate seems to have picked up minutely even though he’s standing perfectly still. He checks his fitness tracker surreptitiously and, yes, he’s right: 74bpm. His resting heart rate is much lower than that thanks to his running regime. But since this guy appeared…

“Do you guys wanna come inside? Check the place out?” The guy stands, brushing dirt from the knees of his jeans, and extends a hand to Castiel. “Dean, Dean Winchester.” 

His smile is bright and friendly, and Castiel finds they’ve sort of stopped shaking hands and now are just… well, they’re basically holding hands. He jerks back, blushing, and his eyes flick to Noah who is now looking in the glass window of the shop with a curious frown on his face. 

“C-Castiel. And thank you, that’s very kind, but we should really be getting along. We have errands to run. Noah…?”

“Daddy, look!” Noah turns to him, pointing excitedly into the shop. “There are mirrors inside! Big ones! Can we go in and have a look, Daddy, please?”

Mirrors are one of Noah’s favourite things. He likes the ones that hang on the wall, likes staring at his reflection and touching the glass, but he also likes handheld ones too and the angles they can create when he moves them to different positions. Castiel peers in through the glass and sees three wide, full-length mirrors pinned to the wall with barber shop chairs sitting in front of them, and a neat array of styling tools in clear plastic drawers lining the opposite wall.

“It’s, uhm, kinda a quiet week,” Dean says with a crooked little smile. “New place and all. So, if you want a tour, buddy, now’s your chance. I could use an expert opinion.”

“Alright,” Noah says, all seriousness and consternation. And to Castiel’s utter surprise, he turns and stares expectantly up at Dean, hands clasped behind his back, blue eyes wide and innocent. Dean, for his part, grins like a Cheshire cat and leads the way into the shop, Castiel trailing behind them. 

The place smells new. It’s shampoo and cologne and the tang of fresh paint all mixed in together and Noah wrinkles his nose at the smell, faltering a little before stepping further forward into the shop. It’s not unusual for him to react to strong scents, and Castiel waits for a further reaction but nothing comes. Noah wanders over to the nearest chair and spins it curiously before turning his attention to the mirror. 

“So, you guys from around here?” Dean has folded his arms and is leaning against the wall by the mirror. “I’ve seen you walk past a couple times.”

“Yes, we don’t live far from here. And Noah’s school is quite local.”

“Cool. Looks like a smart kid.” Dean smiles warmly.  “Who cuts his hair? Just in case I wanted to drum up some new business, you know.” He winks at Castiel conspiratorially. 

“I, uhm, I do it. At home.” Castiel feels his cheeks pink up a little. “I don’t do a very good job. But he really despises having it done. He has sensory processing problems,” he explains and Dean nods in understanding. “So it can all be a bit overwhelming for him. If this place was busy today...” He gestures to the empty shop. “He couldn’t stand it. All the noise and the different smells, all the busyness and action. It would all be too much. So I just do it at home.” He clears his throat, glancing at Noah’s shaggy hair as he picks up a comb and runs a small finger along the teeth of it. “It looks… fine.”

“Yeah. It does. You’re doing great, Cas.” Dean smiles warmly then seems to catch himself. “Oh. Sorry. Can I call you Cas? Is that a thing people do?”

“It isn’t,” Castiel can’t help but smile himself. “But I don’t mind if you do.” He thinks for a moment, tries the nickname out silently. Nobody has ever given him a nickname before. Meg had called him Clarence, used to say he was her unicorn, but Cas is a new one. He wonders now, slightly sadly, why nobody has thought to call him it before. It’s warm and comforting, sounds familiar, and it awakens something inside him that he’s thought long-forgotten. Affection. “I quite like it.”

“Okay. Well, Cas, thanks for wandering past my shop. It’s been kinda lonely around here with only my reflection for company. Makin’ friends is always nice.”

“Are you new to the area?” 

Noah has climbed up to sit on one of the spinning chairs and is rotating slowly, watching the shadows cast on the floor by his feet and wiggling his fingers to create more. 

“Yeah. From Kansas originally, and followed my brother out here a couple months back. He’s some hotshot lawyer downtown. He got the brains,” Dean spreads his arms to gesture to his beloved shop. “I got the beauty.”

_ In more ways than one _ , Castiel thinks, then blushes at his own silent compliment. Dean gazes at him curiously before turning his attention back to the child in his shop. 

“So. Whaddaya think? Reckon the folks around here are gonna like it?”

“Yes.” Noah nods firmly. “It’s nice, Mister Dean. It smells a bit funny but I like all the mirrors and it’s very colourful. I think people will like your shop a whole lot.”

“Well, thanks.” Dean seems to preen a little under the praise. “What do you think, Noah? You wanna let me try and cut your hair one day? Your dad is doing a great job but if you ever fancy a change…?”

“Perhaps.”

And in that instant Castiel sees what Dean is doing. He isn’t framing a haircut as something that needs to be dutifully endured. He’s giving Noah the choice, making an offer directly to the boy instead of leaving him feeling as though the decision has been taken for him and he’s going to be forced into it whether he likes it or not. 

Castiel thinks back to the last time he took Noah to get his hair cut. It had been a dreadful experience, with Noah sobbing and writhing in the chair in an attempt to get away from the stranger touching him, covering his ears against the sound of the hairdryer, and Castiel had been both mortified and guilt-stricken as he cut the whole ordeal short and carried Noah out, promising him he would never have to go through it ever again. Ever since, he's cut Noah’s hair himself, sitting his son down on a kitchen chair with a towel over his shoulders, stopping just short of pinning him down and attacking him with a wet comb until the unruly strands of hair look a little less unkempt and a little more deliberately untidy. Noah hates every second of it, and Castiel has been certain he always will. Until today. 

Noah's blue eyes peer up at Dean with cool distrust, narrowed in an almost comical imitation of his father. Dean smiles back, open and warm, not pushing or demanding but letting Noah know that the choice is up to him, and Castiel’s heart does a strange skip at the sudden image of domesticity that strikes him in that moment. Out of nowhere, he pictures he and Dean at home in his garden, Dean and Noah bonded and happy, and himself overseeing them with pride. A family to call his own. 

“Perhaps,” Noah repeats again, shaking him from his reverie. The boy has climbed down from the chair and is spinning it slowly. “I don't like it very much when Daddy does it. It always hurts.”

“It hurts?” Dean turns confused green eyes on Castiel. “Shouldn't do.”

“He doesn't mean physically,” Castiel hastens to clarify. “He's easily overstimulated by a lot of things. Touch, smell, movement, sound. It all becomes too much for him. He says it hurts, but I don't quite think-”

“It hurts, Daddy.” Noah says with stubborn inertia. “It hurts inside my head, and here.” He rubs his chest. “I don't like it.”

“Well, that doesn't sound like much fun at all.” Dean crouches down to Noah’s level. “If you ever wanna let me give it a try, Noah, I'd be happy to. You just tell me exactly what to do and I'll make sure I do it right. Okay?”

Noah considers. “Okay.”

“Good boy. I'm glad I met you guys,” Dean raises his hand, palm outwards, clearly hoping for a high-five and Castiel cringes in preemptive second-hand embarrassment. Noah doesn't touch strangers. Ever. 

But then something unimaginable happens: Noah looks from Dean’s hand to his green eyes then back again. And slowly, very slowly, lifts his own hand and holds it out in a mimic of Dean’s, then gives the lightest, gentlest high-five Castiel has ever seen, before dropping his hand and turning away to carry on spinning the chair around and watching the reflection in the mirror. 

“Great kid.” Dean is beside him all of a sudden and Castiel blinks owlishly. “Smart. Knows what he wants.”

“He does. Sometimes too much,” Castiel says with a fond smile. “He takes after his mom in that way.”

“Where is she today?” Dean asks, and although his tone is light there's a fleeting look of nervousness in his eyes. “Out shopping?”

“No.” Castiel’s throat tightens. “Meg… It's just me and Noah. Just us.”

“Oh.” Dean seems to sense that isn't the full story and his eyes soften, crinkling at the edges. “Sorry, Cas.”

“Not your fault.” The fluttering in his chest is back, and it continues as Dean stares probingly at him. Then he unfolds his arms and claps Castiel on the shoulder. 

“I won't keep you guys any longer. Thanks for stopping by.” He turns away to address Noah. “Don't be a stranger, little buddy. Okay?”

“Okay.” Noah nods and breaks into one of his rare, blinding smiles which display all of his perfect white teeth - minus the two in the middle which fell out within a week of each other. “We won't.”

And Castiel’s heart flutters in a different way. Is this a dismissal? Has he offended Dean in some way? Bored him? But before he can descend too rapidly into panic, his worries are assuaged. 

“And uh, Cas,” Dean turns back to him, rubbing the back of his neck and suddenly looking shy. “If you ever have a free hour or two and wanted to show a new guy around the area, I'd appreciate it. I haven't had a lot of time to go out and make friends yet, and you seem pretty cool, so…” He trails off, a faint blush tinging his cheeks, and Castiel can't help but think it's the most adorable thing he's seen in a long time. 

“Sure, Dean. I'd love to. How about, um, dinner. Tomorrow night. I can tell you all about the city.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Castiel panics. Did Dean mean a literal tour guide? Has he just humiliated himself in front of the most gorgeous man to cross his path in forever? But Dean only looks surprised for a second before his eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins widely.

“Sounds awesome, Cas. Here, put your number in my cell,” He fishes out a slim, shiny iPhone and hands it to Castiel. “I’ll text you and we’ll sort it.”

“Oh. Uh, great.” Castiel is grateful for the distraction, dropping his head and programming his number in with flaming cheeks. “That sounds great. Cool.” Cool? He doesn’t think he’s ever said ‘cool’ in his life before. But when he glances back up to hand the phone back, Dean is grinning at him.

“Can’t wait, Cas.” Dean squeezes his arm. “Looking forward to it already.”

As Castiel and Noah make their way back out onto the street, Castiel glances back into the window of the barber shop. Dean is watching them walk away, and gives them a little wave as they do.

Noah waves back shyly and, after a pause, so does Castiel.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m an idiot, Sammy,” Dean groans into the phone, standing in front of his open closet doors with a mounting panic in his chest. Staring back at him is a wall of plaid and band t-shirts, nothing at all suitable for this date (is it even a date?) that he’s managed to get himself into tonight. “I have nothing to wear. I should cancel.”

“Poor Deanna,” His brother’s low laugh filters down the line and Dean growls at him in frustration. “Nothing to wear to the ball.”

“Shut your cake hole,” Dean slams his closet door and collapses back onto his bed, sighing dramatically. “I don’t even know why I bother calling you. Useless.”

“Shall I put Gabe on?” Sam asks, mildly. “Perhaps he could-”

“No! God, no. Anything but that.” Dean covers his eyes with his hands. Why has he left it so late to get ready for his date-not-date with Castiel? He closed the shop an hour ago and stopped by the local bakery on his way home to pick up a cherry and apple pie to take with him as a gift. Then he stopped to pick up a movie, because Castiel had told him he had never seen Star Wars and he can’t cope with that sort of nonsense. If they don’t get around to watching it he can just give it to him to watch with his kid. Or suggest they watch it on a second date. Whatever. This isn’t even a date. Right?

“Right,” Sam says blithely, and Dean realises he’s been mumbling out loud. “Because you always get this worked up before going to hang out with your friends. Do you put this much thought into game night with Charlie? Beers with Ash and Benny?”

“Not helping. I’m hanging up now.”

“Okay, okay. What’s wrong, what do you need, what can I do?” There’s a scuffle and a whisper in the background, and Dean can hear laughter. “Gabe says go in your birthday suit. It might be your shortest date ever if you do that, though.”

“Hanging up.” Dean put the phone on speaker and tosses it onto the bed. “C’mon, Sammy. I haven’t been on a date in years, help a guy out.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t-”

“Whatever. It’s not. Jeans and a-”

“If you say plaid shirt, I’m going to be the one hanging up.  Don’t you have anything smarter?”

“Well. Yeah.” He pulls out a black t-shirt with a v-neck that isn’t too obscenely low-cut and some smart dark denim jeans. Paired with his leather jacket this should strike the perfect note of smart-casual. He strips down to his boxers and picks the phone up, wandering into the bathroom and squeezing toothpaste onto his brush. “I’m good, I think. He doesn’t look like he’s too hung up on appearances anyway.” He sticks the brush in his mouth. “Sheemsh like a goo’ guy, Shammy. You’d like ‘im.”

“As long as he’s good enough for you, Dean, that’s all that matters. How did you meet him, anyway? And rinse your damn mouth before telling me, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

Dean spits, rinses, repeats, then heads back into the bedroom to dress. 

“He came into the shop with his son. Cute kid. Don’t know what the backstory is there but I guess I’ll find out tonight.”

“A kid, Dean? Wow. Are you sure you’re mature enough for that kind of commitment? Kids can be hard work.”

“It’s a first date, not a marriage proposal. Anyway, you do it with Gabe so how hard can it be?”

Sam’s squawk of indignation makes Dean grin the entire drive to Castiel’s place. He loves his brother’s partner, but Gabriel really does act like a hyperactive five-year-old sometimes. He lived with the pair of them for a couple of months when he first moved out and came close to strangling the older man on more than one occasion. But Sam seems head over heels, has been since day one, so Dean just grins and bears it. The pair of them are tying the knot in a few months and Dean is Best Man. The thought of standing up in front of their family and friends and giving a speech sends shivers down his spine but Sam had given him such intense puppy dog eyes that there was no way he could refuse. He squints at the numbers on the houses, hunting for Castiel’s address, and finally pulls up in front of a modest three-storey home with a flourishing garden and lights on in the living room and kitchen.

Steeling his nerves and taking a deep breath, he gathers up the DVD and the pie, and steps out of the Impala. 

Castiel hasn’t been this nervous about a date in, well, almost a decade. In fact, longer. He and Meg had been friends before they got together, and before that he had only been on pretty disastrous blind dates or random hookups with people he knew through acquaintances. He can’t even recall his last official date, let alone whether it went well or not, so he doesn’t even have that as a comparison. No matter. He’s determined this is going to go well. He’s already admonished himself fifty times or more this afternoon, telling himself that this isn’t even a date and he’s getting ahead of himself too quickly. It’s just two friends, getting together for dinner. But the look Dean had given him, the flirty brush of his hand down his arm, the  _ wink _ ? That all added up to a date, in Castiel’s mind. If he’s read it wrong then he’s fully willing to deal with the consequences - but he really hopes he hasn’t. Although his internal battle has been raging for a while now and, with only fifteen minutes before Dean is due to arrive, he’s finally won.

When he got home from the market, arms laden with ingredients for dinner and Noah trailing behind him, the first thing he had seen had been a photograph of Meg, smiling her cheeky smile up at him. He had felt a swooping sensation of guilt so strong that he almost dropped the bags in his arms, and had to hastily put them down and grip the kitchen counter to stop his hands from shaking. Is this really happening? If he counts this as a date with Dean, does it mean he’s moving on from Meg? He couldn’t wrap his head around that, and even now he’s struggling a little. It feels like a big step. A huge, giant, gravity-Moon step. Moving on from his deceased wife to a new thing with a cute guy… that’s big. And it might not even be a thing, he had admonished himself. It might be a nothing. But if it is a thing… Castiel thinks that could be kinda cool.

“Daddy? Is dinner almost ready?” Noah asks politely, ambling into the kitchen with a puzzle in his hand.

“Almost. But we have to wait for Mister Dean, remember?” Castiel checks the lasagne and puts it back in the oven, wanting the cheese to brown a little more, to turn deliciously crispy.

“Yes, I remember. Did you buy ice cream, too?” Noah pulls open the freezer door and peers inside.

“I did. Chocolate chip, mint, and raspberry. All your favourites.”

“I hope Mister Dean likes them, too. I like it when people like the same things as I do.” Noah smiles his sweet, innocent little smile and leans over to take Castiel’s hand. It’s a rare occurrence and Castiel cherishes the moments when he does this. He squeezes back - at the exact moment that the doorbell rings and Noah’s eyes go wide with excitement. 

“I’ll get it!” He yells at the top of his lungs, already turning and running towards the hallway, sliding a little on his socked feet. “I’ll let Mister Dean in!”

Castiel turns back to the stove, watching as his hands tremble with a sudden bout of nerves. He’s managed to distract himself with cooking but now that Dean’s here he’s, for lack of a better phrase, freaking out. What if Dean didn’t mean this as a date? What if he decides Castiel isn’t interesting, and his life is too mundane? What if Noah acts up? What if…

“Cas, something smells amazing. If it tastes as good as it smells, I swear I’m gonna marry you right here and now because you must be one hell of a chef.”

Dean is standing in the doorway with his leather jacket draped over one arm looking like he’s just walked in from a catwalk show. Castiel feels his heart rate quicken and his temperature amp up a few degrees just looking at him. And, judging by Dean’s words and the look on his face, this is  _ definitely  _ a date.

Dinner goes remarkably well even in spite of Castiel’s nerves. Dean is easy to talk to, smiles and laughs at everything Castiel has to say, and dedicates a large chunk of his time at the table talking to Noah and asking him all sorts of questions about school and his friends and his favourite subjects. Castiel chews his chicken in silence, watching them interact, and thinks about how nice it is for Noah to have another person to talk to at home aside from him. Noah has plenty of friends at school but dislikes socialising outside of the school hours, so he rarely gets the time to talk with anyone who isn’t his father. He loves it when Michael and Hannah come over or when Balthazar visits, and always cries bitterly when they leave. 

And, tonight, he cries when he has to go to bed because that means leaving Dean. Dean gives him a megawatt smile and tells him he’s had fun playing trains with him after dinner and that he promises they can do it again someday. That seems to assuage Noah and he bids a tearful goodnight and is in bed in record time, tired out from all the excitement. Nervous and unsure how to say goodbye and ask Dean if he wants to spend more time together without looking too desperate, Castiel descends the stairs to find Dean smiling at him, jacket on and ready to go, but loitering in the hallway. 

“Great kid.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you think so. He’s wonderful - most of the time.”

“Yeah, it must be kinda hard being just the two of you. Is he…” Dean trails off awkwardly and Castiel rescues him. 

“On the spectrum? Yes. But it’s fine; he has his moments but overall we manage well.”

He walks Dean to the door and opens it, not wanting to say goodbye just yet. Dean, it seems, has similar ideas. 

“Thanks for dinner, Cas.” 

Dean leans easily on the doorframe, hands in his pockets, the scent of his cologne wrapping comfortably around Castiel and enticing him to lean closer. The night is cool and balmy, the city lights twinkling in the valley below them, and all of a sudden everything feels very romantic. Dean seems closer to him, his eyes a little greener in the dim light, and Castiel’s heart rate quickens again. 

“I had a great time,” he continues, and Castiel finds he can't conjure up the words to respond. Because telling Dean that he'd had a good time too doesn't quite feel like enough. He's had a wonderful evening, the sort of evening he thought he would never have again. Watching Dean help Noah, hearing Noah laugh, catching Dean grinning at him out of the corner of his eye, Dean’s hand on the base of his spine when they were washing the dishes… 

“I've never met anyone quite like you, Cas.” 

Dean has definitely moved closer now, is in Castiel’s personal space, and he smells like wine and caramel and hair gel and all the good things in the world. 

A warm hand trails down his arm to clasp his fingers and Castiel glances down for the briefest of moments. Then Dean leans in and kisses him and he forgets how to think altogether. 

The press of Dean’s lips is gentle, chaste, and unintrusive. His body presses warmly into Castiel as his mouth moves with slow deliberation, kissing deeply with no hurry, and Castiel finds he has to grasp at Dean’s hips to keep himself steady. Dean smells incredible and he tastes even better, the sweetness of their dessert mixed in with the bite of mint gum and Castiel finds himself urging Dean for more, to kiss harder, deeper, and soon their kiss has taken on an edge of passion. Dean’s arm is around his waist, his other hand snaking up to cup the back of Castiel’s head as their mouths move against each other, and one of them lets out a quiet whimper. 

Dean is an  _ incredible _ kisser. Just the right amount of pressure, his touch gentle yet demanding, and the brush of his lips against Castiel’s is damn near perfection. Dean pulls back a little, his teeth grazing Castiel’s lower lip in a gentle nip, then it's full-on once more, deep and gentle and powerful, and they're holding each other so close there's barely a hair’s width between them; Castiel is seeing stars behind his closed eyelids and he never wants this to end. 

When they finally break apart they remain close, holding each other and breathing deeply. Castiel’s bottom lip is glistening with Dean’s saliva and he's wide-eyes, shocked at himself and wanting to pull Dean back for a second kiss. The expression on Dean’s face is exquisite; he's looking at Castiel with a renewed curiosity and into the quietness between them he breathes, “Wow.”

“Yes. I concur,” Castiel responds breathlessly then they're laughing, quietly so as not to wake Noah, but holding each other and grinning with mirth. 

“Does this count as a date, Cas?” Dean asks, thumb coming up to nudge at Castiel’s lower lip. “Because if not then that's something I wanna remedy sooner rather than later.”

“Dean Winchester, are you asking me out?” Nerves flutter begins Castiel’s rib cage at this. Butterflies coming to life, reminding him of why he's single, questioning the situation, worrying about Noah, tugging at him to pull back, whispering that this is too fast. He swallows them down and watches as Dean’s smile becomes more mischievous. 

“I might be. If I were, would you say yes?”

The butterflies are back in earnest, demanding attention, but Castiel can deal with them later. He runs his hand down Dean’s arm and links their fingers together. A car door closes down the darkened street and a dog barks, interrupting the chorus of cicadas. He smiles, and it's genuine. 

“Yes, Dean. I would definitely say yes.”

“Alright then. Good to know.” Dean squeezes his hand then lets it drop, pressing a last kiss to Castiel’s lips before stepping away. Then he winks and Castiel’s heart pounds. “Maybe I will.”

Then he's gone, down the path towards the Impala and Castiel watches him go whilst leaning against the doorframe, one finger absently touching his bottom lip where Dean nipped him. The other man turns and gives him a casual wave before climbing into the drivers seat and the low  _ thunk _ of the door closing jolts him from his trance and he waves back. Castiel closes the door with a smile touching his lips, a strange, unfamiliar kind of euphoria filling him to the brim. He barely remembers what it's like to flirt with someone. To exchange breathless kisses and shy touches. To wonder about the promise of more. Dean has his number, now all he has to do is relax and wait for him to call. 

How difficult could that be?

Upstairs, Castiel pads quietly down to Noah’s bedroom to check in on him and finds his son still awake, curled up on his side and whispering to his stuffed bear. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Castiel runs a hand through his son’s hair and leans down to kiss his forehead. Noah is wearing his Quidditch pyjamas, the ones they got at Harry Potter World last year, and Castiel averts his eyes from the shiny, pale scar adoring his son’s upper arm. 

“Why aren’t you asleep, honey?”

“My brain is busy,” Noah whispers. “It’s thinking a lot.”

“What’s it thinking about?” 

Castiel settles a little more on the bed, adjusting Noah’s bedding and pulling the comforter up to cover his son’s shoulders. It’s a special type, one he’d bought a couple of years ago, a deep midnight blue with little gold stars on, and is heavier than normal comforters. He had read that children with Aspergers often found comfort in weighted blankets so had gone out that day to buy one, and from then on it’s been Noah’s favourite thing and the only way he can fall asleep. 

“I like Mister Dean,” Noah says, allowing Castiel to rub gentle circles into the back of his neck. “I like his shop. I’d like to go back tomorrow.”

“We can do that.” Castiel smiles in the darkness. “Maybe Dean could give you a haircut? See how you like it?”

“Perhaps.” Noah sighs and closes his eyes, drawing his bear closer to his chest. “Do you like him too, Daddy? I think he had fun with us tonight.”

“I think he did, too. It's always nice to make a new friend.” Castiel leans down and kisses Noah’s cheek, tugging the blankets up further and the boy snuggles down under them. 

“I’m tired now, Daddy. I’d like to go to sleep.”

“You do that, honey. Don't let the bed bugs bite.”

“I won't…”

Castiel slips from the room, leaving the door ajar and the nightlight twinkling gently, listening to the sound of Noah’s soft snores. When he falls asleep an hour later, it's with a renewed happiness and a hope he'd thought was long gone. 


	3. Chapter 3

The next day dawns bright and cool, and Castiel wakes to Noah lying sprawled out on his stomach next to him, snoring lightly. The window is open, the curtains billowing in the breeze, and for one moment Castiel can't remember exactly why he feels so warm and content. Usually he wakes with trepidation, a low-burning anxiety in his gut as he anticipates the day ahead. But today he's woken slowly, drawn from his dreams with a smile on his face, and he lazily brushes Noah’s hair back from his face as he contemplates why. 

Then it all comes rushing back and he sits up, wide-eyed. Dinner with Dean. Dean playing with Noah and them bonding so well in such a short space of time. Then that sweet, delicious kiss on the front doorstep and the promise of more. Castiel’s heart leaps at the memory of Dean’s crooked smile, the warmth of his mouth, the way he smelled so clean and crisp. But that couldn't have been real, surely? Someone as charming and handsome as Dean, kissing him? Enjoying his company? But it  _ feels _ real.

Castiel falls back against the pillows, smiling happily to himself, and Noah wriggles until he's curled up against his chest. Fumbling in the nightstand for his phone, he switches it on and is surprised to see the message icon blinking merrily. And that surprise instantly turns to nervous pleasure upon seeing that it's Dean who has sent him a text. 

**Dean Winchester: had a wonderful time tonight Cas, thanks. If I were to ask you out again, hypothetically speaking of course, would you be free tomorrow night?**

A rush of pleasure surges up Castiel’s spine and curls in his chest warmly. Dean enjoyed the evening just as much as he did. He wasn't imagining things. The kiss really happened. And, if Dean’s text message means anything at all, he's keen for it to happen again. Just as keen as Castiel is. 

Extricating his other arm from Noah, he types out a quick response. 

_ Castiel Novak: I may have to rearrange something, but for you, Dean, I can be free for this hypothetical date you speak of. Does dinner sound acceptable once again? Or do you have something else in mind? _

Pressing send, he feels a bolt of nervous energy pulse through him. There’s no possible way he can have misread Dean’s text message, yet his heart pounds as he waits for a reply.

**Dean Winchester: A hypothetical dinner date it is. Your place? Seven? I'd say mine, or going out, but I don't know what your babysitting schedule is like or if you'd wanna leave Noah. Plus I like hanging out with him. Cool kid.**

Castiel stares at the phone, more than a little touched. Not only did Dean factor Noah into his plans, but he also complimented his son and sounds genuinely pleased to spend more time with him. That's been his biggest worry when considering dating again: how a potential new partner would fit around Noah. It would never be a case of his son having to fit into his new relationship with someone else, Noah is too important for that. And, sometimes, too tricky to handle. But he thought it would take a long time to find anyone willing to even consider Noah’s needs and wants, let alone be instantly thinking about them and willing to orchestrate dates around them. 

He pulls Noah into his side, listening to his son’s small snuffles and huffs as he breathes, and reads Dean’s text message again. He mustn't jump to conclusions. He needs to enter this date with eyes wide open and treat it with caution. Handle this new situation with Dean with kid gloves. All the old sayings. He can't let himself be taken by Dean’s wit and charm, can't let himself fall for his imagination and spark, and certainly cannot let how gorgeous the green-eyed barber is get in the way of his rational thoughts. Because it isn't just him who stands to get his heart trampled on in this scenario, and Noah has been through too much change already. When he next meets someone, when he next chooses to settle down, it needs to be for the long-haul. With intent. More than just a light romance. 

“Daddy,” Noah mumbles into his shoulder. “Chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast.”

“You got it, sweetheart.” Castiel kisses the top of his head and sits up. “And milk.”

“And milk.” Noah tugs at his pyjamas. “Too hot.”

“Okay. Let's get you cooled down in the shower first.” One of the things Noah is particularly sensitive to is temperature changes, and it is particularly warm in the house this morning. 

In the bathroom, Castiel allows Noah to strip off his pyjamas shorts and t-shirt, watches him fold them neatly, then watches as he climbs into the shower and turns the water on. They always keep the temperature exactly the same, how Noah likes it, and Castiel has got used to cooler showers over the years. 

“Here,” he pulls a new bottle of shower gel out of the drawer. “It's the one you like.”

“Thanks, daddy,” Noah gives him one of his rare dazzling smiles and commences pouring the shower gel into one hand, smelling it deeply, then working up a lather with it. Castiel helps him when he needs it, and wraps him in a fluffy towel when he's done, picking him up and carrying him back to the bed. He ruffles Noah’s messy, wet hair with a towel and soon they're both dressed and downstairs, Castiel making pancakes and Noah arranging his Lego Star Wars figurines into size order. 

The rest of the morning passes in a pleasant blur, and Castiel catches himself smiling whenever he thinks of Dean and the way he had smiled after they’d kissed.

The evening rolls around quickly and Castiel bakes an apple and blackberry pie and makes steak with potatoes and steamed vegetables for dinner with Noah’s help. When the doorbell rings, Noah rushes to answer it again and walks in with Dean, talking animatedly to him and smiling from ear-to-ear. Dean listens intently and waits until Noah has finished and wandered away before turning his attention to Castiel. 

“Hey, Cas.” His smile is warm and inviting and Castiel wants to lean into him and breathe him in. Dean looks edible in black jeans and a plaid shirt, a pendant of some sort hanging around his neck and his hair styled with gel. Castiel hopes he doesn’t look scruffy in comparison; his hair will never lie straight. It takes him a moment to notice that Dean is staring at him with a slightly odd expression on his face.  

“What?” He raises a hand to his lips self-consciously, wondering if he has blackberry juice staining them. Dean’s smile only widens further and his eyes sparkle. 

“Would it be too weird if I…” His gaze drops from Castiel’s eyes to his mouth and back again. “Ah, screw it.”

He moves forward, takes Castiel’s hand in his, and kisses him deeply on the mouth. It’s a long, sweet moment before he pulls away. 

“Damn. Been thinking about that all day.” Dean rubs noses with him. “You’re a good kisser.”

“Speak for yourself.” Castiel is sure he’s blushing and he turns away, tugging Dean towards the kitchen by the hand. “C’mon. I don’t want dinner to spoil.”

They eat at the table and, similar to last night, Castiel sits quietly while Dean and Noah chat and laugh together. Noah avoids looking Dean in the eye, preferring to concentrate on his plate, but it’s evident he’s enjoying the company. After dinner, Dean washes and dries the plates while Castiel puts Noah to bed, reading him the same story three times before he finally falls asleep with Eeyore clutched to his chest. 

“Thanks,” Castiel wraps an arm around Dean from behind and kisses the back of his neck as Dean finishes drying and stacking the last plate. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Course I did,” Dean turns in his arms and steals a quick, warm, open-mouthed kiss. “You’re the chef. It’s only fair.”

They wander into the living room with drinks and Castiel puts on a Mozart record and turns the lights down until the room is bathed in a warm, relaxing glow. The fire crackles merrily in the hearth and he’s buoyant with excitement about his new romance. 

“Hey, this is a nice picture.” 

Dean has wandered over to the bookshelf and picked up a framed photograph. Castiel’s heart leaps a little as he realises which one it is. It's of him and Meg, standing in Yosemite National Park, one-year-old Noah on Meg’s hip, smiling at the camera. Meg is pink-cheeked from the sun, Castiel’s hair is longer, blonder, and curled at the edges from sweat, and Noah is looking past the camera at something in the distance, a now-familiar frown on his face. 

“Look at your hair, Cas.” Dean points, his voice soft with respect. “You look so different.”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” Castiel looks over Dean’s shoulder, wistful at the memory. That has been a fun weekend. “But I think I like it better now.”

“I like it both ways,” Dean smiles, turning his head, and suddenly their lips are inches apart. “You always look good.”

Castiel entwines his fingers awkwardly, ducking his head to hide his blush.

“Do you miss her?” Dean touches Meg’s face with a fingertip and Castiel’s throat tightens. 

“Yes. Every day.”

“Clarence?” 

Castiel shucks his trench coat off and shakes errant snowflakes from his hair, listening intently. It's later than he intended to be home, and Meg and Noah should be long gone by now. Tuesdays are Noah’s swimming lessons down at the local pool, and Meg always drives him. 

“Hey, what are you still doing here?” He turns to her with a surprised smile as she hurries into the room, her blonde hair hastily shoved up onto a top knot, looking harassed as Noah trails behind her, five years old and the most studious, serious child Castiel has ever encountered. He catches her around the waist and pulls her in for a kiss. She pecks him back then wriggles away. 

“We’re late, Castiel. Someone hadn't taken the laundry out, so I couldn't find Noah’s swimming shorts anywhere.” She pins him with a look and he bites his bottom lip, contrite. 

“Sorry. I was distracted this morning.”

“Big case?”

“Yes. But that's no excuse. Do you want me to drive you both there?”

Noah has wandered up to his father and is hugging his leg tightly, one hand clasped firmly around a stuffed clown fish from  _ Finding Nemo _ . Castiel ruffles his hair, overwhelmed with love for his son.

“Do you have to go?” He loosens his tie with a hand, running gentle fingers through his son’s hair as Noah presses into his leg. “Aren't you going to be late anyway?”

“Yes, but it's important to Noah. We’ll only be five minutes late, the teacher won't mind.”

“I can't fathom why anybody would want to go swimming in this weather,” He hoists Noah up onto his hip. The boy rests his head against his father’s shoulder, tracing a circular pattern onto his shirt collar, then wriggles to be put down almost immediately. “You'll then into a dolphin one of these days.”

“I won't,” says Noah, shrewdly. “Silly, Daddy.”

“Yes, silly Daddy.” Meg tugs on Castiel’s tie, pulling him down for a kiss. “Leftovers in the oven, meatloaf. Don't make that face, I know you like it.”

“Be careful,” he kisses her on the forehead, hand cupped to the back of her neck. “It's icy out.”

Those were the last words he ever said to her.

“Shit.” Dean’s eyes have gone wide with shock. “And Noah…?”

“Was in the car. We had bought a new car seat that week, I remember complaining about the cost at the time.” Castiel blinks rapidly, taking a deep, slow breath to calm himself as memories begin to overwhelm him. “But it saved his life.”

“Noah!”

Castiel has never run so fast in his life. Nor driven so recklessly, in spite of the weather and his reason for getting behind the wheel. All he knew was that he had to get to his wife and son, that he shouldn't have let them leave the house in such bad weather to begin with. His trench coat flaps behind him, dark hair plastered to his forehead with a combination of rain and sweat, blue eyes bright and frightened. 

“Meg? Noah!” 

He turns this way and that, surveying the emergency room feverishly, tugging at his own hair in distress. Nurses rush to and fro around him, machines are beeping, and the entire floor seems to exist in a state of organised chaos. He tries feverishly to grab someone, but everyone ‘in a minute’s’ him and he's left standing, trembling, in the middle of it all. 

“Sir?” A grave-faced doctor with a clipboard frowns at him. He's shorter than Castiel, has a nearly-kept beard and bright eyes, and a sensitive demeanour. “Are you alright?”

“My wife and son.” Castiel is gasping, barely able to form complete sentences. “Car crash. They were brought here, and I can't find-”

“What are their names?” The doctor moves to a nearby computer terminal and taps it. His name tag reads ‘Benedict’. 

“Meg and Noah Novak.” 

Castiel tries to keep the fear from his voice, but his mind keeps throwing him back to the phone call he received not a half hour ago. A cool female voice, clipped and regretful, asking him to come down to the hospital at his earliest convenience. Stressing that it was urgent. Unable to give him more details even when he begged. The journey, throughout which he white-knuckled the steering wheel and tried not to panic completely. 

“Ah.” Dr. Benedict’s voice brings him back to the moment. “Your son is in curtain two. He's sustained bruised ribs, a concussion, and some nasty lacerations which have required stitches. Likely from the broken window.”

Castiel’s knees weaken and he grips the desk to stay upright. 

“Can I see him? Where is he?”

“Of course.” Dr. Benedict motions for him to follow and directs him to a bed hidden by a green curtain. When it's pulled back, Castiel’s low cry matches Noah’s distressed howl as he pushes himself up and reaches for him with his tiny hands. 

“Daddy! Daddy!”

“Noah,” Castiel doesn't even realise that he elbows a nurse out of the way to get to his son. He only has eyes for his little boy, and hugs him tightly, clasping the back of his head and breathing in his scent over and over. Noah has dried blood on his forehead, a gauze bandage across one arm, and is sobbing dryly, so hard he can barely breathe. “It's alright. It's alright, I'm here now.” He cups his son’s scared, wide-eyed face and knows the sight of him bloodied and bruised will stay with him for the rest of his life. “Where's your mommy?”

“She didn't make it.”

“What?” Castiel stills at the sound of those words, said so blankly by his five year old son. “She… Noah, what did you say?”

“I heard the doctor,” Noah sniffles, coughs, presses closer to Castiel who cradles him tightly. “He said Mommy didn't make it. But I don't know what he means. What didn't she make, daddy? What didn't she make?”

Castiel doesn't know how long he sits there, in his soaked trench coat with his injured son in his arms, staring blankly into space. He doesn't remember the doctor confirming what Noah had so innocently told him. He doesn't remember crying, doesn't remember breaking down or pleading for it not to be true, although by all accounts that's exactly what he did. 

He just remembers Noah, quiet and sniffling in his arms, skin held together with staples and gauze, and the chasm that opened up in their lives that cold January night.

Later, much later, Noah is upstairs changing into his pyjamas and Castiel has handed Dean another beer, sitting down beside him on the couch and listening intently for any quiet calls for help. 

Dean had been very quiet since Castiel’s story, and especially so after finding out that Castiel talks about Meg’s death to absolutely no one. He had reached out and taken hold of Castiel’s hand, held it tightly, and said everything he needed to say with his eyes. They'd both taken another long look at the photograph of Meg holding Noah then, before the evening could be deemed irretrievable, and headed back into the kitchen to continue dinner. Now, Dean has relaxed somewhat and has been pelting Castiel with questions for the last ten minutes - some appropriate and others not so much, but every single one of them has been answered honestly. 

“Did she know?” Dean asks, gesturing towards Castiel with his beer bottle. “That you're bi?”

“I don't really use labels,” Castiel shrugs. “But yes, she knew. We were quite the adventurous couple before we had Noah.”

“Oh, really?” Dean leans forward, bright-eyed. “Tell me more.”

“Well,” Castiel rubs the back of his neck, a self-conscious blush creeping onto his cheeks even as he smiles. “It wasn't always just the two of us in the bedroom, if you know what I mean.”

“Seriously?” Dean’s eyebrows raise so high they almost touch his hairline. “Threesomes? Foursomes?  _ More _ ?”

“Such a tone of surprise. Should I be offended?”

“No. But, wow, Cas. Sorry, I just thought you seemed…” Dean grins apologetically. “Kinda vanilla.”

“Maybe now. But I wasn't always. I guess after Meg…” Castiel breathes deeply. “I had a lot to take on. Looking after Noah, working, moving house. It was a lot. My personal needs fell away and everything became about my son. It's difficult not to end up vanilla when you don't have time to not be.” 

“Maybe now is the time you make some time and space for yourself,” Dean suggests gently, his hand coming to find Castiel’s thigh and squeezing gently. Their eyes meet in a delicate clash of green and blue, but before they can do more than smile at each their a low voice calls for Castiel from upstairs, and he sighs in defeat. 

“I'll be right back.”

“No problem,” says Dean easily, leaning back and sipping his drink. “Take all the time you need.”

Upstairs, Noah is sitting up in bed in his galaxy-print pyjamas with tears on his cheeks, hugging his knees into his chest. He blinks owlishly as Castiel enters the room and buried his face in his knees, sniffling quietly to himself. He’s clearly been crying for a while and Castiel sits down on the edge of the bed, wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulders and pulling him into his body. Noah goes stiff, doesn’t unwind himself at all, and Castiel can feel a low cry building up inside his son. He wraps both arms around Noah, securing him in a tight, restrictive hold, rocking him gently. 

“What is it, Noah? Bad dream?”

Noah doesn’t respond; he whines into Castiel’s chest instead, starting to fight and wriggle to get free. Castiel only holds him tighter, reaching for the blankets with one hand and pulling them up, wrapping them around Noah tightly. 

“Was it the car crash?” No response. “Because that’s in the past now, Noah. It can’t hurt you any more.”

“Lights…” Noah sniffles and Castiel’s heart sinks. It definitely is the same nightmare, the nightmare Noah has at regular intervals about the car crash that took his mother’s life. He remembers most vividly the lights from the ambulances and fire engines, the beeping of machines and the bright fluorescent strips of the emergency room. “Don’t like the lights.”

“I know you don’t, kiddo. Come and lie with me for a while, I’ll help you forget all about the lights. It was just a dream.” 

Castiel leans back against the headboard, drawing Noah against his chest. Slowly, and with monumental effort, the boy tries to relax into him and Castiel shushes and rocks him until he’s drowsy once again. Downstairs, he can hear the sounds of the television; Dean has made himself at home and for that Castiel is grateful. Soon, Noah is snoring softly and Castiel unwinds the covers and lies him down again, settling him on his side. He leaves the bedroom door cracked open and the nightlight on, then heads back downstairs. 

“I’m so sorry, Dean…” He begins but is met with a raised, open palm and a warm smile. 

“Don’t even try apologising, Cas. Your kid comes first, always. I took the liberty of opening another couple beers for us, I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course.” Tension eases from Castiel’s shoulders at the easy familiarity and the way Dean just accepted him abandoning their date to see to his son. They settle together on the sofa and both sip their drinks, trying and failing to pretend they aren’t watching each other. 

“So, I guess I've kinda given you the third degree,” Dean half-laughs at himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “It's probably your turn to ask me some stuff now. Go on. Anything you like. I won't lie.”

“Good to know that honesty is one of your perks.” Castiel says drily, smiling over his beer bottle. 

“Perks? Oh, I got plenty of those, Cas. Just don't ask any of my exes, okay? They're the ones that lie.” There's mirth behind the emerald eyes and Castiel laughs loudly. 

“Fine. I won't. I'd like to learn about you by myself, anyway.” Castiel smiles at him. “I don't know what to ask you, Dean. Tell me about yourself.”

“Feels like a job interview, but okay.” Dean shuffles about until he's comfortable, one leg bent beneath him and his arm resting across the back of the couch, hand coming to Castiel's shoulder where he squeezes gently. “You know the basics. Kansas boy, born and bred. Moved out here with my brother, fancied a change of scenery and here seemed as good as anywhere. He’s a lawyer, Stanford graduate, and his boyfriend is a hairdresser, same as me. They met at an awards ceremony when Sam came with me a couple of years back.” Dean frowns, remembering. “Gabriel beat me that year. And every year since. I kinda hate him for it.”

“Awards ceremony? Wow, Dean. That's impressive.”

“Hardly. Small town boy, small town awards.” Dean shrugs. “Never won, anyway. One day.”

“Where does your brother - Sam? - live?”

“With Gabriel. They have an apartment out of town, about a half hour north of here. Sammy is great, super smart. Always has been. Gabriel is, eh,” Dean shrugs. “A bit of an asshole. But he loves my brother, makes him happy, so I guess that's what matters.”

“Definitely. Happiness is the most important thing in life, that's for sure,” Castiel muses. Then, with a hint of hesitation, “What about you, Dean? No significant other to speak of?”

“Me? Nah. Nobody for a while. Nobody serious, anyway.” Dean drains his drink, then sets the empty bottle down on the table. “Always stayed away from relationships, tell the truth. Never been big on commitment.”

“No?” Castiel feels his heart sink a little. “Why's that?”

“My dad, probably. He's never been cool with the whole, uh, gay thing. Kept telling me I'd snap out of it, that it was just a phase. He even tried to send me to some church camp to,” Dean makes air quotation marks with his fingers. “‘Pray away the gay’. Load of shit since he didn't believe in God anyway, think he just wanted to make my life harder.”

“That's awful, Dean. I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what it must have been like, your family not accepting you.”

“Yeah, well. Sam kept him proud, had a couple of serious girlfriends in high school and college. He could pretend his fuckup of a queer son didn't exist so long as Sam was chasing skirt like a good boy.” There's a sour note in Dean’s voice, one Castiel wishes he could chase away with a kiss. But it doesn't feel like the right moment. “The old man died before Sam met Gabriel anyway, so he never got to find out that both his sons disappointed him. Probably for the best. It would have given him a stroke and killed him anyway.”

“How did he find out about you? I'm going to hazard a guess and say that you didn't come out to him, if you knew he was less than tolerant?”

“Hell no.” Dean is kicked back now, relaxed, his hand unconsciously massaging Castiel’s thigh through his jeans. “I avoided that conversation like the goddamn plague. He caught me with some guy from the football team after school. I was sixteen. Just kissing, but still. He went bananas. Threatened to pull me out of school, caused a scene with the jock’s parents… The kid never spoke to me again. It wasn't exactly how I wanted to come out to Sammy or to my friends,” He shrugs, faux-nonchalant. “The rest is history.”

But behind Dean’s eyes there's a deep, longtime pain lurking. The kind of agony borne from his parent not accepting one of the most important parts of who he is, and actively working to change him. And now, now that his father has passed away, the chance at reconciliation is long gone. Castiel can't relate, and feels guiltily grateful for his own supportive family and friends over the years. 

“So, how about you, Cas? Any painful coming out stories, or was it all rainbows and unicorns for you?” 

And for a minute, he's thrown back years to Meg, soft smiles and soft curls, calling him her unicorn under starlit skies. He blinks and the memory fades, leaving Dean before him, his freckles and pretty eyes illuminated in the lamp light, smiling at him expectantly. His hand is still on Castiel’s thigh. 

“Not, uh, not really. My family has always been supportive,” he says apologetically, and Dean chuckles. 

“Good. I'm glad. Don’t feel bad for me, man, we all got skeletons in our closet somewhere. At least mine are dead and buried.”

_ Mine, too. _ Castiel thinks, but before he can sink into melancholy Dean leans forward and runs a hand down his jaw. 

“May I kiss you, Cas?” he murmurs, and Castiel has never wanted anything more. 

His eyes slip closed even before he nods, then Dean’s mouth is on him, searing hot and beautifully sweet all at once. When they break apart, Dean’s eyes are sparkling.

“I've never, uh. You know. With a guy. Before.” Dean’s cheeks have turned a pretty shade of scarlet beneath his scruff and he's keeping his eyes on Castiel’s lips as he speaks. Castiel, however, can't hide his surprise at Dean’s confession. 

“ _ Never _ ? Even though you've been out since you were sixteen?”

“Well. I've done  _ bits _ . You know, blow jobs and stuff. But nothing more.” Dean shrugs. “Never felt right. Never found anyone I trusted enough to do that with. Dunno if it's something I'd be into, anyway. Might be too weird.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel is still processing this new information. “It's not for everyone. But I always feel like it's one of those things that you don't know whether you like it until you've tried it, you know?”

“Are you propositioning me, Cas?” Dean is grinning now, effectively covering his discomfort, and it's Castiel’s turn to blush. 

“What? No! Absolutely not. I'd never… Dean, no. No. It's not like that.”

“Huh. Shame.”

And before Castiel can parse that comment, Dean is smirking at him and climbing to his feet. 

“I should get going. Past my bedtime.”

And with one final, sweetly chaste kiss, he’s heading for the door and Castiel is waving him off, his throat tight with the sudden and unfamiliar longing for Dean to stay. He hopes it won’t be too long before they see each other again.


	4. Chapter 4

“Where's Noah?” are the first words out of Dean’s mouth when he tugs open the front door and sees Castiel standing there alone. And he should be offended, but it's too sweet. 

“I got a sitter. A friend from work, Nora. She has a baby too, and we trade off sometimes.” 

Well, that's not strictly true. Castiel and Noah go over to babysit quite often while Nora goes out with her boyfriend, but it's rare for the favour to be returned. So rare that Nora had actually looked shocked when she had heard Castiel had a date, and had poorly tried to cover it. Luckily, Castiel’s forgiving nature had him smiling and agreeing with her that he hasn’t had a date in a long time, and she agreed to come over after work to give Noah his dinner and put him to bed. Castiel is nervous, but hopes it will all go smoothly so that he can enjoy his date with Dean.

“Don’t hesitate to call me though, if he needs me,” he had reiterated for the tenth time. “Noah, you’re going to be good, aren’t you? You’re going to let Nora put you to bed? She knows the routine…”

“Yes, Daddy.” Noah had looked almost bored with Castiel’s fussing, and eventually he had been herded out of his own house as Nora smiled and wished him good luck on his date. He had found himself missing his son as he turned the corner and the house fell out of sight, unfamiliar with spending the evening without him. But as soon as Dean opened the door, that feeling bled into the background and all he could feel was nervous excitement.

“That’s great,” Dean grins wider. “Grown-up night.” He grips Castiel’s hand and tugs him into the apartment, hesitating for only a split second before kissing him softly on the mouth. “Would you be totally weirded out if I said I missed ya?”

“No.” Affection blooms in Castiel’s chest and it’s impossible to keep a smile from creeping onto his face. “Not at all. I missed you as well.”

“Good.” Dean squeezes his hand with an impish grin. “Glad to know I’m not totally forgettable. C’mon, dinner’s almost ready.”

There’s an incredible smell wafting through the apartment as Castiel ventures in after Dean, hanging his coat up on the rack beside the door. Something rich and tomato based, hints of garlic and freshly made bread. Castiel’s mouth waters and he realises he hasn’t eaten a single thing since breakfast, over twelve hours ago. His stomach chooses that moment to betray him with a low growl.

“Hungry, Cas?” Dean leads him into the kitchen and gestures to a dining table, brushed wood with a vintage, homey feeling. A lot of Dean’s furniture is mismatched and looks as though it has a story attached to it.

“Ravenous. It smells amazing.”

“I make a mean lasagne, so I hope it lives up to your standards.” Dean shoots him a grin and pulls Castiel’s chair out for him - a gesture which is so oddly romantic that it makes Castiel forget his words for a moment. He watches as Dean moves with ease through his kitchen, trying and failing not to stare as his ass as he stands at the stove.

“This apartment is really nice,” Castiel compliments him as Dean plates up their meal. He stops just short of saying,  _ as are you.  _

“Yeah, it's okay. My lease is up in January and it would be cool to find somewhere more central. I'm kinda out on a limb, here.”

He's not wrong. It had taken Castiel a train and a bus journey to reach Dean’s neighbourhood. But it’s worth it and he wouldn’t change it for the world. They eat at the table, making small talk, then move to the couch where soft kissing quickly turns to deep, sensual making out. 

Dean lies on top of Cas, held in the V of his legs, licking into his mouth and rocking into him gently. Castiel runs a hand through his hair, presses kisses to his jawline and whispers, “Bedroom?” 

“Yeah,” Dean whispers and soon they’re stripping each other slowly, taking in every inch of skin, exploring each other’s mouths and holding each other close. Castiel is solid muscle, thighs thick from running, and his cock is solid and heavy between his legs. Dean swallows reflexively at the sight of it as they move to lie on the bed together. 

_ “ _ C’mere,” Castiel whispers softly, tugging at Dean’s hips. Confusion splashes across Dean’s face but he goes with it, moving up Castiel’s body slowly, waiting to be told to stop. When his thighs are bracketing Castiel’s shoulders, he pauses and gives the older man a quizzical look. 

“I want to taste you,” Castiel murmurs and realisation dawns, bringing with it a low pulse of arousal. Dean grips the base of his erection, ready to direct it towards Castiel’s lips, but a shake of the dark head stops him. 

“No,” Castiel continues, one hand stroking Dean’s thigh. “I want to taste you  _ here _ .” 

And with his index finger crooked into a curve, he runs it gently down Dean’s crack until he finds his hole, tight and dry, and Dean’s body jerks with surprise. 

“You… Really?” He’s gripping the base of his shaft for a different reason now, staving off his orgasm. Coming suddenly, like a teenager, just because Castiel suggested something remotely new and erotic, would definitely be a mood-killer. “Jesus, Cas. I mean, nobody's ever…”

“I know.” Castiel massages circles into his bare thigh. “I want to be the first. If you'll let me.”

“Fuck yeah,” Dean leans forward and grips the headboard. “I'll let you. But… you won't hate it, will you?” 

A bout of nerves suddenly grips him, and instead of answering verbally Castiel leans up and mouths at his balls and the base of his cock. The warmth of his lips and tongue feels incredible and Dean can barely contain a shudder. 

“I won't hate it. Dean, you're going to taste incredible. I want to lick you open, then finger you ‘til you come. Do you want that?”

Dean tips his head back, breathing in deep a few times before answering. He's white-knuckling the headboard, trying to regain control of himself. “Fuck. Yeah. Yeah, Cas. Do it.”

It's not something he would ever have asked for. Not something he ever thought he would truly  _ want _ someone to do for him. But it's been part of his dirtiest fantasies for so long and his trust for Castiel is so implicit that if anyone is going to do it, it has to be Cas. Strong hands nudge his thighs further apart, grip his ass and push him up towards the headboard, then Castiel’s face is fully between his legs, his breath hot on Dean’s taint and asscheeks, and he can feel himself blushing scarlet as sure, deliberate thumbs circle his hole and spread him open. What if Cas really doesn't like it? What if he tastes awful? What if he isn’t  _ clean?  _ What if…

“Oh -  _ God.” _ A low moan is drawn out of him by the sensation of Castiel’s tongue, warm and wet and sweet, circling his hole and his entire body jerks. “Fuck. Do that again, Cas.”

He doesn't have to ask twice. Castiel’s tongue teases at him, sliding in soft circles around his opening, and Dean bites his lip to contain a groan of pleasure. Jesus. Even in his wildest fantasies he didn't think it would feel like this. On one level it feels wrong, straddling Castiel’s face like this and using him, but on every other level it feels sinfully good and, as strong hands reach for his hips and pull him down until he's pressing into Castiel’s mouth, sitting on his face, his world whites out for a second. 

“Jesus, Cas, yeah. Like that. Open me up…”

Dean’s head is tipped back, his throat bared, and the most sinful pornstar-esque sounds are spilling from his lips, but he can't help it. What Castiel is doing to him with his mouth is unreal. He's never been one for much noise during sex, but now he figures he must have been doing it with the wrong people because this… This is on another level. His crack must be soaked by now, as must Castiel’s face, but the other man doesn't let up at all. If anything, he moans into it, thumbs pressing in tight to spread Dean wider and lick deeper into him and encouraging Dean to rock into a slow rhythm. Sweat beads between Dean’s shoulder blades, dripping down his spine, and his palms slip on the headboard as he pushes down onto Castiel’s face, riding his mouth slowly but with weakening restraint. It feels so  _ good,  _ like his entire pelvis is on fire with pleasure, sending sparks up his spine and down his thighs. His cock is pulsing with need, untouched and desperate between his thighs. And Castiel just keeps  _ going _ , circling his rim with his tongue then dipping in, tasting him inside, and when he does that Dean has to hold on tighter, afraid he’ll lose his balance. To help him, Castiel wraps his hands around his thighs and anchors him there, holds him firmly down onto his face, and Dean fucking  _ whimpers _ as he arches his spine and rocks down into a deeper rhythm. 

He reaches down and wraps a hand into Castiel’s hair, tugging gently, and the hands on his thighs tighten, holding him in place, as Castiel continues to expertly eat him out. There are low, breathy gasps coming from between his legs as Cas struggles for breath, but every time Dean considers sitting up and letting him breathe he just can't bring himself to do it because it feels too good. And Cas is far from complaining. He sucks gently at Dean’s rim, tongue moving in slow circles, and Dean sits down harder on his mouth, moaning lowly. He's never felt this debauched, never. Never knew he could. Sweat drips down his spine, between his pecs, down the cleft of his ass, and he's damp under his arms with it, yet all he can do is hold on tight, rock on Castiel’s mouth, and whimper as he's pushed closer to what he already knows will be a mind-blowing orgasm. 

He curls a hand around the base of his cock, squeezing tightly, and is shocked to find himself wet with precome. A quick glance down confirms it: it's dripping from his tip, soaking his shaft, and God he's never leaked this much during foreplay before.  _ Never _ . He stutters out another groan as Castiel sucks gently on his rim, pressing his tongue in deep, and Dean feels a surge of pleasure akin to a mini orgasm. 

“Fuck… Cas…. Gonna, gonna come if you keep this up,” he pants, assuming that would bring the intense rimming session to a regrettable end, but to the contrary. 

Castiel doubles his efforts, thrusting his tongue in and out in a firm rhythm, and one hand works its way up to Dean’s balls, cradling and squeezing them as they tighten in spasms, then slipping behind and Dean moans loudly, desperately, as a thumb begins to massage his taint in slow circles. His prostate, his mind registers dimly. He knows it's there, has explored the sensations himself in the past, but no previous lovers have ever cared enough to try and bring him pleasure this way. They just wanted it quick and dirty, sloppy handjobs and blowjobs, but Castiel is like no lover he's ever been with before. Every touch seems reverent, every caress loaded with the desire to please, and as Dean continues to rock and grind on Castiel’s mouth he knows he's going to come from this. He can't stop himself. The mere idea that Castiel can eat him out so good that he comes from it sends a surge of pleasure through him. His orgasm is building, slowly but surely, cresting until he's riding that delicious edge, panting and gasping as pleasure ricochets through his sweat-drenched body. He has to let go of himself to grip the headboard again with both hands, eyes falling closed and jaw dropping in ecstasy. 

“Yes, Cas…  _ Yes,  _ please,  _ please… _ oh… oh _ God _ !”

He's coming, he knows he's coming, but the pleasure is so intense that all he can do is hold on and moan as he comes, as his body trembles and his thighs tighten with his orgasm. He clenches down on Cas’ tongue, crying out at the sensation as Castiel continues to fuck him with it and circle his entrance even as he spasms. Creamy jets of semen spurt from his untouched cock as it pulses between his legs, soaking his stomach and dripping down his shaft to slide over his sac, and he groans at the sensation as his balls tighten again. Another pulse of come dribbles down his cock and he drops his head, panting, watching as the remnants of his orgasm shudder through his body, making his thighs twitch. Castiel’s mouth is still buried in his crack, his tongue still massaging his wet rim, but it's slow now, meant to draw out the aftershocks of his climax and Dean can't contain a gasp as his cock jerks once more as a final bead of thick semen pools at the head. His arms tremble as he grips the headboard, and as Castiel presses a final kiss to his hole and shimmies out from beneath him, he's unable to trust himself to form words. So it's good when all Cas does is press himself against Dean’s back and kiss the sweat from the back of his neck. 

“That… you were… God,” Dean’s voice cracks and he draws in a deep breath, weak and trembling. “Holy shit. I've never come like that.”

“I know,” Castiel murmurs into his ear, his hand sliding around Dean’s hip to caress his stomach and play with the cooling semen on his skin. “I could tell. Am I to assume you liked it?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer but all that spills out is a husky groan as Castiel’s hand slides lower to cup his softening cock. A thumb gently massages circles into his shaft, finding the head and dipping into the wet slit, and Dean’s hips rock gently into Cas’ hand of their own accord. He's spent, exhausted, skin sticky from his own sweat, but Castiel’s hand on him still feels incredible. It's yet another thing that displays to him with shocking clarity how disinterested his past lovers have been. Usually, after they've both come, Dean would want more, would want to cuddle and caress, but more often than not he would be left alone in bed with the sweat cooling on his body and his own semen drying between his legs. Cas is different. In every way possible. 

He sighs, leaning back into the older man and tipping his head back to rest on Castiel’s shoulder as an arm comes across his chest to hold him in a warm embrace. The hand between his legs is still gently caressing him and Dean whines, arching his spine, pressing into it. He wonders fleetingly if this is some weird kink he's got going on. He's soft now, sensitive, yet feeling Cas smear his own semen into his skin is intoxicating. It's amping up his heart rate  again, sending tingling shivers across his skin, and he feels a low rush of arousal as Castiel presses his erection between Dean’s asscheeks. God, this is erotic. His eyes flutter closed as Castiel begins to kiss his neck and thrust gently between his cheeks, squeezing Dean’s soft shaft and drawing a sweet mewl from his lips. 

“Does this feel good, Dean?” Castiel’s voice is rough, huskier than usual, probably from having his mouth buried against Dean’s asshole for the last half hour. His cock is damp and twitching where he's thrusting it between his cheeks, then he pulls back and adjusts himself so that his next thrust is between Dean’s thighs and  _ yes _ , that feels so good. The gentle push of a thick cock against the underside of his sensitive balls while Castiel still strokes him is perfect, and he arches into it, pressing back into Cas. He's still holding onto the headboard with both hands, body bowed beautifully in Castiel’s arms, and the room slowly fills with the sounds of slow, sensual sex once again. The pants dripping from Castiel’s lips, the sound of him licking and kissing Dean’s neck, the wet slide as he thrusts between Dean’s legs, cooling come slicking the way, and the little gasps and whines that are pulled from Dean at each forward push. 

“Feels so perfect, Cas,” Dean whispers, baring his neck for more kisses. “Wanna feel you come. Want you to come on me, do it, baby.”

“You're beautiful, Dean,” Castiel growls, thrusting harder now, his cock nudging Dean’s balls perfectly and Dean is panting again. He can't get hard, is far too spent, but the brush of Castiel’s wet cockhead against his taint is drawing a new kind of arousal out of him. His stomach muscles are spasming and his soft, wet cock is twitching in Castiel’s hand and he grips the headboard so tightly his knuckles turn white and his fingertips go deep red with blood. Fuck, can he come again? Like this? But he's not even hard…

“Dean…”

With a guttural groan, Castiel pushes forward once more, hard, into the tunnel of Dean’s thighs then freezes, muscles tensing as he comes, and it's the sensation of warm, thick semen flooding between his legs in hot pulses that does it. Dean arches, cries out brokenly, and every muscle in his body tenses as he drips another load of come over Cas’ hand, his cry going on and on as Castiel bites down on his neck and massages every drop from his soft shaft. The slack, wet muscles of his asshole spasm and for the first time in his life he wishes he was being fucked. Wishes for something thick and hard inside him to fill the ache, and he writhes in Castiel’s arms, collapsing against him as his chest heaves, whimpering with oversensitivity now as they grip each other tightly through the aftershocks. 

Castiel cradles him and lowers him down to the bed on his side, snuggling up behind him and pushing a leg between his thighs, uncaring about the sticky mess between them, and holds Dean as his body trembles, unable to get himself back under control. 

“Are you alright?” he whispers into Dean’s sweat-damp hair, but Dean can only nod in response. He doesn't trust his voice. There's a lump in his throat and he knows he's gripping Castiel’s hand too tight where it rests on his stomach, probably leaving half-moon indentations with his nails, but he can't let go just yet. That was one of the most intense experiences of his life and he feels like something inside him might shatter if Castiel sits up and pulls away. 

“Shhh. Dean, shh. It's alright.”

Castiel works his hand under Dean’s shoulder until his elbow cradles his head, and his hand comes up to run gently through Dean’s hair. Gentle kisses are pressed to the back of his neck, and Dean feels weirdly like he could cry. He wants to let go of Castiel’s hand, wants to turn over in his arms and tell him that was the best sex he's ever had and thank Castiel for introducing him to a whole new world of pleasure, crack a few jokes maybe, but he can't. He can't get his body to move. Between his legs, their combined release is cooling and growing tacky, but it doesn't seem to matter. Nothing seems to matter right now except Cas, except lying here with Cas, and Cas not letting him go. 

“You were beautiful, Dean.” Castiel murmurs into his neck, continuing to stroke his hair and hold him close against his body. “Your pleasure was exquisite. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Slowly, the lump in his throat begins to dissolve and Dean can feel himself relax against Castiel’s strong chest. Any fears he had that Castiel would immediately sit up and he move away once he knew Dean was alright are immediately assuaged as Castiel shimmies until they're more comfortable, and continues to press kisses to every inch of Dean’s neck and shoulders he can reach. And when Dean answers, he swears he feels a smile against his skin. 

“Thank you for giving it to me.”

The next thing Dean knows, he's blinking himself awake in his dimly lit bedroom and he's alone in bed. He tenses, disorientation flooding him, then a warm hand comes to rest on his neck and Castiel is in front of him, kneeling down beside the bed. The lamp in the corner is on and Dean pushes himself up onto an elbow, rubbing his eyes in confusion. Dried semen tugs at the hair on his legs and he cringes. Ugh, gross. 

“Shit. Did I fall asleep? Cas, I'm sorry…”

“Don't be. We both did.” Castiel kisses him on the forehead and Dean notices then that he's fully dressed, shirt left open-collar and his tie bunched up in his hand. “I'm so sorry, but I have to go. Nora is waiting for me to get home.”

“Ah, fuck. No, I'm sorry, Cas. I shouldn't have let us get so carried away. I don't want you being late for Noah.” 

He sits up fully, the sheets pooling around his waist, and he doesn't miss the hungry look Castiel gives him as his eyes rake over his body. The dim glow of the lamp makes his skin look more tan and he flexes his abs self-consciously. He wants Castiel to still find him sexy afterward. 

Afterward. The memory of what they did comes flooding back in a rush and Dean’s cock gives a valiant twitch at the same time as his cheeks flame with embarrassment. God, he was so  _ wanton.  _ Such a slut for Castiel’s mouth. Where the fuck had that come from?

“Cas, I'm sorry. You took care of me so well and I kinda, well, didn't return the favour.” Blushing hard, he rubs the back of his neck. “I'm so sorry.”

“Dean. Please stop apologising.” Castiel perches on the edge of the bed, tilts his chin up, and steals a deep, sweet kiss from his lips. “I meant it when I said you were beautiful. I loved every second, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. And I wish I didn't have to leave.”

“Let me walk you down, at least.”

He starts pushing the blankets off, but Castiel’s hand stops him. 

“No. Sleep some more, it's late. I'll let myself out. And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss you already.”

Then he's gone, and Dean listens for the click of his apartment door closing, then snuggles down happily under his blankets, allowing a smile to touch his lips. Shit, that had been some good sex. Castiel’s  _ mouth.  _ He's all kinds of keen to see what else it can do to other parts of his body. His nipples, for one thing. His balls. And his cock… And he wants to get a hand on Castiel properly. Perhaps find out what it feels like to finally take it, to have Castiel kneeling over him with his cockhead nudging at his rim and spreading him open…

He turns to lie on his back, but before he can get worked up again he grimaces. No matter how good the sex had been, the mess afterwards is still a pain in the ass and the dried come on his belly and between his legs is beyond gross. Grumbling to himself, he throws off the blankets and heads for the shower, and when he falls back into bed fifteen minutes later, warm and sleepy, his phone is lit up with a text message. 

_ Castiel Novak: I can't wait to see you again. Maybe next time you can make me breakfast. _

His dreams are extra sweet when he finally falls asleep. 

“Does your fire alarm not work, Cas?” Dean enters the kitchen at Castiel’s house a few days later, in jeans and a Henley, hair damp from the shower and a frown on his face. He drops a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. “”G’morning.” 

“Morning. Uh,” Castiel wafts the smoke towards the window with a dish towel. “Why do you ask?”

“Because it's like a smokehouse in here.” Dean unlocks the kitchen door and throws it open. “You should get that fixed.”

“I know. It's on my list of things to do. If only I knew a handyman,” Cas grunts, wiping tears of reaction from his eyes. 

He's always been sensitive to smoke. He shouldn't be, since he spent most of his youth burning everything he attempted to cook, but yet even the smallest amount makes his eyes stream. He gazes sadly down at the pancakes he was trying to make, them remembers why he burned them. He was distracted, yet again, by thoughts of Dean. Dean, who had slept over last night for the first time and who had let him do utterly filthy things to him while they both barely contained their moans and gasps, covering each other's mouths so they didn't wake Noah who slept peacefully down the hall. He had given Dean a sinfully long blowjob then fingered him to orgasm, making him come with two fingers circling his prostate and his hand over Dean’s mouth to muffle his cries. Then Dean had deepthroated him until he saw stars, encouraging Castiel to grip his hair and fuck his mouth until his throat was raw and his voice hoarse. They had found out what each other's come had tasted like last night, and that memory is what distracted Castiel so much that he burned breakfast.  

“I can fix it for you,” Dean tugs him close with a hand on his wrist. “I'm pretty good with my hands.”

“I know,” Castiel murmurs, and they both share a conspiratorial smile before Castiel moves away to throw out the charred remains of breakfast. 

“Seriously though, Cas. Fire safety is, uh, kinda important to me.” Dean rubs the back of his neck and Castiel stops what he's doing to look at him, sensing a story. “I told you my mom died when I was young. Well, she died in a house fire. When I was five and my brother was just a baby. So, yeah. Kinda one of my biggest fears.”

He drops his gaze, embarrassed, and a moment later Castiel tilts his chin and drops a kiss onto his cheek. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't realise. I'll get it fixed, or get you the parts to fix it. I want you to feel safe here.”

“I do.” Dean sits down on a stool and tugs Castiel to stand between his thighs, wrapping his arms around his waist. “I like it here. You and Noah are great.”

“I'm glad. He likes you a lot, Dean. It's wonderful to see.”

“Was this morning okay? He wasn't too freaked out?”

“No.” Castiel smiles warmly at the concern in Dean’s green eyes. “He was fine.”

At four in the morning, while the moon hung pale and cold in the crystal-clear autumn skies, Noah had crawled into bed beside his father as usual, and cast a curious look at Dean who slept on soundly with one arm thrown over Castiel’s waist. 

“Are you and Mister Dean having a sleepover?” he had asked innocently, a little too loudly, and Castiel had hushed him and told him yes, and that had been it. Noah had fallen asleep on Castiel’s side of the bed and Dean had woken to find two people snoring softly in the morning light instead of one. 

“Good. That's good, Cas. ‘Cause I kinda wanted to ask you something.” Dean looks away, chewing his lower lip, and Castiel waits, knowing better than to push. “This thing we got going on. I'm into it. I mean, I kinda like seeing you. Having you around. Do, uh, do you? Feel similarly?”

“Yes, Dean. I do. I didn't think I would find someone I wanted to spend time with again, especially after Meg, but you and I… It feels special. I'm enjoying every minute.”

“Good. Great. Well, I just wanted you to know that I'm not, uh, seeing anyone else. While we're dating. It's just you.” Dean is sure he's never blushed so often, or so hard, since Castiel came into his life. He's sure this can't be normal. “I just wanted to tell you that.”

The smile that comes over Castiel’s face can only be called dazzling. It shows off his perfect white teeth with a hint of his upper gums, and he leans down to kiss Dean fervently, deeply, and he's smiling into the kiss. 

“Me neither, Dean. You're the only person I want to date right now.” It feels inappropriate to say any more, to hint to Dean that he sees this becoming a long-term thing, but the soft excitement in Dean’s eyes tells him he probably isn't alone in his thoughts. “It's just you.”

“So…” Dean coughs to cover his embarrassment. “Does that make us boyfriends? If we're only dating each other?”

“Do you want us to be boyfriends, Dean?” Castiel hedges and laughs as he's slapped on the arm for his troubles. “Yes, I think it does. I'd like to be your boyfriend.”

“Awesome.” Dean's nose crinkles as he grins widely. “That's awesome, Cas. Real awesome.”

“What's awesome?” comes a small voice from behind them, and Castiel steps back, only a short distance away from Dean but keeps a hand firmly on his shoulder. He doesn't want his son to think physical affection is something that should be shameful or hidden away. Before he can think up an answer, Dean gets there first.

“Your dad just agreed to be my boyfriend. Isn’t that cool?”

“I suppose,” Noah wrinkles his nose. “Claire at school has a boyfriend.”

“She does?” Dean raises a brow in amusement. “How old is Claire?”

“Eight. They hold hands. I think it’s gross.” Noah brushes his hair out of his face and juts his chin out, eyes firmly on Dean and Castiel’s linked hands. “I don’t ever want to hold hands with anybody.”

“Well, buddy, you might change your mind in the future. Or not. Either way, it’s cool with me.” Dean pulls out a chair for Noah with the spare hand that Castiel isn’t gripping. “Now. Who wants breakfast?”

“It’s burned.” Noah scowls, then his eyes fill with tears. “Daddy. It’s burned. I don’t like it, I don’t like the smell. I can’t eat it.”

He sits down on the kitchen floor with his head buried in his hands and Castiel makes an aborted move towards him, halted as Dean holds a hand out to stay him. Slowly, Dean kneels in front of the kid and brushes his hair aside. Noah allows him to do it, shivering with repressed sobs.

“Don’t worry, little man. You don’t have to eat it. We can start again, you and me. Make something together. How does that sound? Hey?” Dean sits down fully, cross-legged, and waits patiently for Noah to lift his head and stare at him from beneath his dark curls.

“Okay,” he whispers. “But you have to do most of it. I’m not allowed. The stove gets very hot.”

“That sounds like a deal, buddy. C’mon.” He extends a hand and, after a pause, Noah takes it and they stand up together. “Let’s make some pancakes.”

He cooks one handed, with Noah on his hip, face buried in Dean’s neck as he watches silently. Castiel, sitting at the table, is struck silent by the sight and kisses Dean deeply once they’ve eaten and the dishes have been cleared away.

“Thank you,” he whispers and Dean just smiles.

“Any time, Cas. Any time.”


	5. Chapter 5

The weeks pass with ease, with laughter and fun and a growing affection. Dean buys Noah a scooter and teaches him to ride it in the street outside Castiel’s house as the nights draw in and the leaves turn golden. Dean is in a battered leather jacket, once his father’s, and Noah in a parka with a fluffy hood and jeans, running about and laughing joyfully. Castiel watches them from the window, cooking dinner, waiting for them to come in with cold hands and red noses, asking for coffee and hot chocolate to warm them up. And when Noah falls off, which is inevitable, it's Dean he runs to for band-aids for his skinned knees, not Castiel. 

It should sting, seeing his child bond so quickly and easily with another, but all Castiel feels is warmth and light. He never imagined someone would fit into their lives so easily, and with Dean it is easy. It never feels difficult or tricky, and the handsome barber is always happy to see Noah and happy to spend hours either playing with him, helping him do puzzles, or watching him methodically sort out his toys in the studious way only Noah can master. 

A pivotal moment is when Noah lets Dean cut his hair. It’s an endeavour, and takes a lot of time and skill, but Dean masters it by giving Noah the breaks he needs and letting him sit close to the mirror and hold a hand mirror, watching the angles of his own reflection as a distraction. He touches as little as possible, tidies Noah’s dark hair up neatly, and rewards him with an oatmeal cookie at the end. Noah beams and wraps an arm around Dean’s waist in the briefest of hugs before slipping away.

Castiel has never been more in love.

And as for Dean, he’s settled into his new home and is greeting each passing day with a new enthusiasm for life he’s never felt before. Even opening his own shop never filled him with the same joy that he experiences waking up at Castiel’s place to Noah crawling into bed with them, or opening his eyes to see Cas curled in his arms on his couch, asleep after a movie. 

In October, he takes Noah shopping alone for the first time to buy a Halloween costume. Noah dresses up as a werewolf and Dean and Castiel take him trick or treating around the neighborhood and share the candy on the sofa later that evening. 

In November, the door to his shop pings just as he’s finishing up with his best friend’s hair, fluffing up her scarlet curls and showing her the back as she grins, punches him on the arm, and tells him he’s ‘freakin’ awesome’. A small yet firm voice floats across the shop to them and Charlie freezes in shock as Noah commands, ‘Don’t hit! It’s not nice to hit other people, and you shouldn’t do it. Especially Mister Dean, he’s my friend and I don’t want you to hit him!’

It’s then that Dean realises that the emotion blossoming in his chest is love, and that he loves Noah in a way he’s never felt before towards anyone except Sam. As though he’s family. Charlie stares for a moment then squats down to Noah’s height. 

“You’re right, little man. And I’m sorry. Am I forgiven? I promise I won’t do it again.”

Noah looks her up and down then nods solemnly. “Yes. You’re forgiven.”

He gives his second high-five of his life to Charlie and Castiel watches it all from the doorway, grinning stupidly. 

Dean spends Thanksgiving at Castiel’s house, much to the shock of Sam and Gabriel. They both recognise that it must be serious for Dean to spend a family holiday away from his brother, and they handle it in very different ways. Sam, naturally, is happy for Dean yet cautious, not wanting him to end up hurt. Gabriel is characteristically crude and Dean hangs up on him less than two minutes into their conversation.  

Noah stays up late that night and Dean reads him his bedtime story for the first time. When Noah is asleep, his toy cuddled close and his breath coming is low, wispy snores, Dean pulls his heavy blanket up to his chest and bends to kiss him on the forehead because it feels too natural not to do it. Noah stirs, cracks open an eye and smiles at him, and Dean sits and watches him sleep for a while. 

That night, he sleeps with Castiel for the first time, allowing the older man to do things with his body that nobody has in the past. He comes on his hands and knees, untouched, with Castiel’s cock buried deep inside him and his teeth sunk into his own forearm to muffle his cry. They lie together in the afterglow and stroke each other’s skin, watching each other in the darkness. 

Dean has never been more in love. 

But one night, one cold, crisp night when Dean and Castiel are lying in bed wrapped around each other and Noah is asleep down the hall, he wakes suddenly to the smell of smoke. 

The first thing he registers is fear. Before he's even properly awake, he's gripped by a chilling level of terror that pins him to the bed and constricts his chest. He blinks awake, eyes sore as he rubs them, and in the dim light from the hallway night light he sees a thin haze covering everything in the bedroom. And the smell of smoke hanging thickly in the air. 

“Cas? Cas!” He shakes Castiel awake roughly, simultaneously sliding out of bed and grabbing his jeans. “Get up! I can smell smoke!”

“But I had it fixed…” Cas mumbles turning over in bed, half-asleep. “The alarm got fixed.”

“No, it didn't. Wake  _ up, _ Cas!” Dean drags him to the edge of the bed and shakes him hard, and Castiel is suddenly focused and alert, inhaling once then getting caught in a coughing fit. 

“Dean? What's happening?”

“Fire. C’mon, we need to get Noah.” 

Out in the hallway, Dean is brought to a halt by how thick the smoke is. The nightlight blinks once then flickers out, plunging them into darkness, and Castiel presses up against his back, urging him to move with panic in his voice. Downstairs, off towards the kitchen, there's a flickering glow which sends Dean back years into his memory and it's only Castiel shoving him hard, digging his nails into his upper arms, that pulls him back. 

“Dean. It's alright. We have to go,” Castiel’s face is pale as Dean’s eyes begin to adjust, and he coughs hard. “Come on.”

“Noah?” Dean slams Noah’s bedroom door open and heads for the bed, reaching for the child and blinking smoke out of his eyes. The electricity has gone out, so there's no point in even trying the light switch. “Noah, get up. There's a fire - Noah?”

“Dean?” Castiel is right on his heels. “Noah, c’mon… Noah!”

Dean’s hands have landed on empty air and then an empty bed. Noah isn't there, and he feels a sudden and intense wave of panic which Castiel obviously feels at exactly the same moment, because his cry for his son splits the air.

“Noah! Noah, where are you?”

“Cas, c’mon. We gotta get you out of here, I’ll come back for him.” Dean bodily ushers Castiel out of the bedroom, his chest tight with terror, mind going wild at the possibilities of where Noah could be. Has he gone downstairs already? The kitchen? Outside?

“No! No, I can't leave him! Noah,  _ Noah _ !” Castiel is verging on hysterical, fighting against Dean and clawing at him in an attempt to break free. Somewhere down the hall, there's the creak, groan, and crash of something giving way and sparks flood out into the hallway. Shit, this is bad. He needs to get Cas out, and he needs to find Noah. He can't do both things at once. 

“Cas, Cas, listen to me.” He grips Castiel by the shoulders, shaking him hard. “You have to get out -” He breaks off, into a coughing fit, and Castiel attempts to break free. “No! You have to go, get to safety. I'll find Noah.”

“No, Dean! I can't, I can't leave him!”

Somehow, he's managed to manoeuvre Castiel halfway down the stairs, using the force of his body and the comfort of his words, but Castiel is still terrified, looking desperately over Dean’s shoulder and calling for his son. Something else groans and collapses downstairs and they both tense in fright. 

“Noah!”

In his desperation to get back upstairs and find his child, Castiel manages to stumble, tripping Dean up, and they both career headlong down the stairs, falling over each other, and ending up in a tangled heap at the bottom, coughing, spluttering, and groaning in pain. 

“Jesus…” Dean is the first to haul himself to his knees, his head pounding and the world spinning around him. “Cas? Cas! Are you okay?” 

He breaks into another coughing fit, eyes streaming, and manages to drag Castiel into a sitting position by the front of his pyjama shirt. Castiel is groaning, one hand reaching for his ankle and the other at his forehead which is slick with blood. He must have hit it on a step on the way down. Dean feels sore everywhere, battered and bruised, but it looks like Castiel came off worse in the fall. 

“D-Dean?” Castiel’s eyes are unfocused, and Dean cups his face to try and get him to sharpen up. “What… did we fall?”

“Yeah, Cas. Look, I'mma get you outside, then I'll come back for Noah. Okay?”

“But Noah…” Castiel’s eyes are streaming from the smoke and he wipes at them clumsily. “I have to find him…”

“I'll get him. C’mon. Outside.” 

Something crashes behind them, and the beams above their heads groan. The smoke is thicker now, blinding, and Dean hauls Castiel to his feet with one arm slung over his shoulders. Supporting Castiel around the waist he manages to fumble in the darkness and get the door unlocked, then they're stumbling outside and gasping in great gulps of fresh, clean air. Someone takes his arm, and he recognises a neighbour from across the street, then he’s turning and looking back at the house in mounting horror.

“Fire brigade are coming,” someone says, and Dean nods mutely. All he can think of is Noah, his eyes scanning the small crowd outside.

“Is he here? Is Noah out here?”

And he watches as one after another, white-faced people in their nightwear shake their heads as the realisation that Noah is still inside the burning building dawns on them.

Curled on the ground outside, Castiel is shaking violently, chalk-white from pain and terror, and Dean stands nearby, clutching his hair and watching as the fire spreads to the bedroom they had been peacefully sleeping in not a half hour before. Next to it is Noah’s bedroom, and there's a dull glow beginning to pulse behind the blackout curtains. In the distance, the sirens of the fire department begin to wail. 

“Noah,” Castiel chokes, one hand grasping his swollen ankle and the other reaching desperately towards the house. “Dean, I can't… I can't lose him…”

Then, with startling clarity, it hits Dean square in the chest and he gasps at the realisation. 

“Cas! know where he is! I know where Noah is!”

Then, before anyone can reach out and grab him, Dean takes off running back towards the house, and disappears from view into the blaze. 

The heat is choking, and Dean immediately struggles for breath. He can barely believe the fire has spread so quickly, but he doesn't have time to stand and consider why. He needs to get to the stairs, and fast. He can already see flames licking at them, encircling the bannisters, and he takes them two at a time, conscious of how they groan beneath his feet. He drags his t-shirt up to cover his face, eyes streaming, feeling his way along the corridor by memory as the smoke is now too thick to see through. He knocks something over, a table or a lamp, hears something shatter but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters apart from getting to Noah. 

He finds his way to the boy’s bedroom but it's slow going. He has to stop, lungs burning, to double over and cough multiple times. But when he finally pushes the door open he's relieved to be able to sip in a few gulps of cleaner air. The boy’s heavy door has kept the worst of it out. 

He stumbles across the room and falls to his knees beside the bed, sending up a silent prayer to any God who might have their ears on. 

_ Please… please let me not be wrong…  _

_ “ _ Daddy?”

Through the crackle of flames and the groaning of the house as it burns, the one word is music to Dean’s ears and he grips Noah by the forearms and drags him out from underneath the bed, pulling him tight to his chest. The boy is paralysed with fear, eyes wide and unfocused, and Dean presses a kiss into his dark hair. 

“Good boy, Noah. Well done for hiding. You did so good, kid. Now, let's get downstairs and find your daddy.”

He pulls Noah’s pyjama shirt up to cover his nose, doubling up with his palm, and lifts him up into his arms. The boy is slim but heavy, and Dean staggers a bit until he gets a good balance. 

“Dean… I'm scared,” Noah mumbles into his neck, clinging close, and Dean hushes him gently. 

“It's alright. You're with me. It's alright.” 

He sounds much calmer than he feels, as he casts about for another exit from the room, but Noah’s bedroom window is too high for them to jump, and it's right onto the concrete yard. They'd both be seriously injured or worse. The only choice Dean has it to go back through the house, and he needs to make it quick. 

“No! Dean, no! I don't like it!” Noah howls, beginning to wriggle in his arms and trying to pull away. Firmly, Dean grasps the back of his neck and holds him close enough to look into his eyes. 

“Noah. I know it's scary. I know, believe me. But you gotta trust me, okay?” He breaks off into a coughing fit before managing to regain his breath. The smoke has enveloped the room now, and Noah’s eyes are streaming, soot streaking his skin as he tries to wipe them away. “I'm going to get us downstairs, and outside. But you gotta be really brave. I need you to be brave. Can you do that for me?”

Noah nods, sniffling and coughing, his cheeks wet with tears. “Like a superhero.”

“Like a superhero.” There’s a crash from downstairs and they both jolt in fright.

“Like Batman?”

“Exactly like Batman. You be Batman, Noah. I’ll be Robin. And we really gotta go.”

And that's it, there's no more time for conversation. If Dean has any chance at getting them out, it needs to be now. 

Out in the hallway, the scene is like something from his worst nightmares. He's thrown back thirty years to his old childhood home, to his mother screaming, to his father shoving his little brother into his arms and telling him to ‘go, Dean! Now!’ Only this time it's different. He's older, he's the one in control, and he needs to push through the threatening paralysis. Needs to own his fear. Can't let anyone else succumb to the same fate that took his mother. He tries to take a deep breath to steady himself but winds up choking, and the bolt of fear threatening to overtake him rears its head.

“Hold onto me, Noah. Hold on tight.” 

The one thing that’s going to get him out of this is the child in his arms. Dean doesn’t care in this moment what happens to him. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting Noah back into Castiel’s arms, to safety.

He pulls his t-shirt up to cover his nose, presses Noah’s face into his neck, and makes his way down the hallway with one hand trailing down the wall for stability. His own eyes are streaming now, and he can barely see. What he can see is the flickering glow of flames from below him and in front of him; the fire has spread quickly, is in their master bedroom now and the living room below him, and the flames are licking at the stairs. Shit. He needs to be quick before the end up trapped. Where the fuck is the fire department? He coughs viciously, throat and lungs burning as he inhales a mouthful of smoke, then steps onto the staircase.

“Daddy!” Noah is coughing, crying, wriggling in fright now and trying to push his way out of Dean’s embrace and it’s like holding onto an octopus.

“Noah. Hold still, please,” Dean breaks off, choking. “I need to get us out of here.”

They’re halfway down the stairs now and it’s becoming hard to breathe and almost impossible to carry on talking to Noah. He holds him tighter, listening to the boy’s snuffling cries as he presses his face into Dean’s neck once again, and takes another step down, reaching blindly for the rail as he almost loses his balance.

There's a creak, a low groan, then - before Dean can move to remedy his error - the step beneath his feet gives way. He falls heavily, not far but far enough for him to feel the impact, and lands on his side with Noah on top of him, crying out as something spears the flesh of his thigh. His head cracks against the tile of Castiel’s hallway floor and his vision sparkles with shooting stars. Pain lances up his spine and he can't contain a groan of agony. Barely conscious, all he can think of is the child in his arms, and manages to heave himself up onto an elbow and push Noah beneath his body as debris rains down on top of them - some charred, some untouched by flames, and some burning brightly. 

A large shadow looms over him, silhouetted against the glow of the flames, and he's certain he hears Noah start to cry in earnest before the world fades to black and the pain ebbs away to nothing. 


	6. Chapter 6

“I have to.”

“No, you don't. What you have to do is stay right here.”

“But-”

“No. No buts. Doctors orders.”

“But the shop…”

“Will be fine for a week or two without you. Gabriel is more than capable of taking on your clients.”

“Gabriel? You called in Gabriel?”

“Of course. We're a package deal, Dean. And I know you think he's an ass, but he does care about you.” Sam tries to fluff up Dean’s pillows again and it batted away irritably. “He kinda has to. Brother-in-law, and all that.”

“Whatever. Still can't believe he married you.”

“Still can't believe you missed the wedding.”

“I was in the ICU! Half-dead from saving my kid! Er, Cas’ kid,” he corrects hurriedly but it's too late. Sam has gone all misty-eyed and Dean rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Cut it out, man. Don't you have somewhere to be, anyway?”

“Nope!” Sam settles next to Dean on the couch, flicking the television on and remaining contentedly oblivious to the grousing coming from his older brother. “Cas left me strict instructions not to let you wallow in your own misery, so that's what I'm doing. Now, Cupcake Wars or Dr. Sexy?”

Dean goggles at him, incredulous. “Have you had a stroke? Or am I hallucinating? Wait, I'm dead, aren't I? That falling beam actually did kill me off and this is some weird version of heaven. Or hell, if Gabriel is lurking about.” Then, seeing the sad puppy eyes his little brother is directing at him, he sighs and shifts guiltily. “Sorry. No more ‘Dean is dead’ jokes. At least for a while.”

“At least for a decade.” Sam is quiet for a moment. “Have I told you how brave you were? Running back into the house for that little boy? He'd be… I mean, if you hadn't…”

“Yeah, Sammy. You've told me.” Dean cuts him off, gruffly, embarrassed at the praise. “Ten times today, already. So has Cas. Can we drop it now?”

They lapse into comfortable silence, watching an episode of Cake Boss, and Dean’s eyes stray down to where Sam’s left hand cradles the remote control. Shit. His little brother is married. He can scarcely believe it happened, and he's still furious with himself for missing their big day. It couldn't have been helped, it made no sense to cancel the ceremony they'd been planning for weeks, and he knows Sam was back at his bedside within an hour of the ceremony, but he's still bitter about it. He's sitting on his couch in his apartment, right leg in a brace with bandages encircling his knee and crutches propped up next to him. The burns to his arm, neck, and shoulder are healing slowly but the skin is still raw and painful so moving too much is out of the question. And he never realised fractured ribs could hurt so much. His days are limited to bed, couch, shower (with help), and back to bed. And try as he might, nobody will let him leave the apartment long enough to make it to the mailbox, let alone his shop. Not for lack of trying. 

Three weeks have passed since the fire, and they've contained some of the toughest days of his life. He spent a while in the ICU, unconscious and on a respirator following severe smoke inhalation, and had needed surgery to fix his dislocated knee and mend some of the muscle in his thigh which had been torn up by a splinter of Castiel’s wooden staircase impaling him as he fell. Add a nasty concussion and second-degree burns into the mix and he was very lucky he made it out of the house alive. Most nights, he can't sleep because the memories of the fire are too recent and too vivid, and he wakes up clutching his chest, reaching for his leg as pain sears up his thigh, scrabbling at his throat and feeling as though he's back in the darkened, smoke-filled hallway, unable to breathe. 

And Cas is there through it all. Through the nightmares, through the pain, through the frustration he feels at not being able to go about his everyday life, and through the soft moments when they lie together in bed or on the couch, silent yet lost in the same thoughts. They're lucky. So lucky to be here, together, him, Cas and Noah. Noah, who escaped unharmed apart from a nasty cough, who walked away with his life thanks to Dean. And the guilt Castiel is piling onto himself seems to know no bounds. Even though Dean has reassured him time and time again that the blame is theirs to share - neither of them had gotten around to fixing that damn smoke alarm - Castiel seems hell-bent on daily self-flagellation about it all. 

He remembers opening his eyes, that first time in the hospital, and the first person he saw was Noah. His throat was sore and scratchy from the ventilator, the pain emanating from his burned skin was beyond anything he had ever felt before, the exposed nerve endings protesting violently every time he tried to move even an inch, and he was sluggish and confused. Noah had been sitting cross-legged in an armchair in his school uniform with the tie on backwards, frowning down at his homework, and hadn’t noticed Dean was awake. When Castiel came back into the room ten minutes later, he had dropped the cup of coffee he had been holding all over himself and the floor, rushed to Dean’s side and called for a nurse while Dean cringed and tried to croak at him to keep his voice down and tell him what the fuck was going on. He doesn’t remember much from those first few days, only snapshots as though someone keeps showing him polaroids of his time in hospital. He had dislocated his knee and torn three tendons in his fall, yet the first thing he can remember properly asking is how Noah was.

“Fine,” Castiel had sat at his bedside opposite him, next to his son, and squeezed Dean’s hand hard enough to bruise. “Smoke inhalation. He’s fine. You saved his life.”

And that’s what everyone keeps telling him. That he’s a hero, that he saved a little kid’s life, that he should get a medal for what he did. He’s sick of hearing it, because the memories still make his skin crawl and he doesn’t want to think about it. He just wants to forget. Only Noah seems to get that - the kid hasn’t brought the fire up at all since Dean told him he doesn’t really want to talk about it. The boy had nodded, said ‘me neither’ and that was that.

“So. Have you thought about what you and Cas are doing for Christmas?” Sam asks, hesitation evident in his voice, and Dean shrugs listlessly. 

Christmas is barely a week away, and Dean has bought gifts for nobody. His apartment isn't decorated. Everything still sits in the cardboard box in the back of the closet where it was stashed in January. This isn't how he saw his first Christmas with Castiel and Noah going. He had wild, excitable visions of them all together, the three of them plus Sam and Gabriel, celebrating with a huge feast and exchanging presents around a sparkling tree. But all of those dreams are dashed now, burnt to ashes under the remains of Castiel’s home. Small blessings mean that his apartment is big enough for all three of them, but he's concerned that Castiel is only here out of necessity and guilt, not because he wants to be. His house is a write-off, will need rebuilding from the ground upwards, and Castiel is somewhere in the middle of wrangling with his insurers who stubbornly refuse to pay out because the cause of the fire is unknown. 

“I should just forget the whole thing,” Castiel has said more than once, in moments of melancholy. “Move on, sell the land and rent a place in the city.”

Dean partly agrees. Castiel’s finances seem solid enough for him to be able to set up all over again, make a new life for him and Noah. But he can't deny he's getting used to having them around. His pillows and sheets now smell like Castiel, there's new and familiar shower gel in the bathroom, and Noah’s toys and books have found neat homes for themselves in his living room. 

Sam nudges him, waiting for a response, but he's saved from answering by the sound of a key in the lock then Noah is running into the living room with snowflakes sparkling in his hair and a knitted scarf muffled around his neck, school bag in hand. 

“Dean! Dean!” Noah dropped the addition of ‘Mister’ right after the fire, and Dean supposes the intimacy of having someone save your life is likely what prompted the change. “How's your leg today? Have you walked much on it? Remember what the doctor said, you have to use your crutches as much as possible because otherwise you could damage it more, and…”

As Noah prattles on, reciting almost word-for-word the instructions that his physical therapist had given him after his last appointment (Castiel and Noah had insisted on accompanying him), Cas follows his son into the living room, shaking snow from his jacket and staring at Noah’s wet footprints with an apologetic frown. 

“Sorry, Dean. I'll clean up. The weather really is terrible out there.”

“Don't worry about it.” Dean extends a hand to him and Castiel goes willingly, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “I'm just glad you're back. How was school, buddy?”

“Fine,” Noah has paused for breath and is now unpacking his school books from his bag and putting them neatly on the kitchen counter. “I have an hour of homework to do.”

“Awesome. Maybe Sammy will help you.”

“Sure!” Sam leaps up from the couch, eyes lighting up at the thought of a project. “Happy to!”

“Milk and cookie first,” Noah frowns at him. “Daddy always lets me.”

“Okay. Milk and cookies, got it.”

“No. Cookie. Just the one. I don't want to spoil my appetite before dinner…”

The pair amble off together into the kitchen, Noah focused on the refrigerator and his homework, and Dean smirks as they go. Sam and Noah hit it off in the hospital waiting room, apparently, bonding over a book on dinosaurs, and Sam was slightly shell-shocked to find that Noah knew more of the Latin names than he did. When Dean had explained about Noah’s Aspergers, croakily from his hospital bed, Sam had nodded and said he knew the boy was especially clever.

“He's brilliant, Dean. So intuitive. I can see why you love him so much.”

Dean had blinked balefully at his brother then shrugged and nodded. He loved Noah. He knew it even before the fire, but now he had no doubt in his mind that he would do anything for the kid. And the same goes for Cas. 

He just hopes Cas feels the same. 

“Hey.” As if on cue, Castiel sinks down into the spot vacated by Sam, entwining his hand with Dean’s. “How are you feeling, really?”

Castiel always poses the question this way, as though Dean is prone to telling fibs about his pain levels. Which, in truth, he is. But being seen as weak in front of his boyfriend and kid isn't something he's keen on. 

“Better today, by far. I wanted to go into the shop for a bit but Sammy is a very strict nurse.” Dean frowns down at their clasped hands. “He's set Gabriel loose on all my clients. God knows what they'll all be walking around looking like.”

“Blue and green mohawks, I imagine.” Castiel smiles and Dean groans, loudly. “I'm glad he was able to help out.”

“Yeah. Me too, though it totally kills me to admit it. He's pretty good at what he does.” A horrible thought strikes Dean. “Oh, God. What if he steals all my clients?”

“Dean. Hush. He won't do that. He's family, now.”

“Yeah. I guess.” 

He wraps an arm around Castiel and eases him against his side. The burns are still sore, red and raw and angry, and he has to be careful when embracing his boyfriend, which totally sucks. But at least Castiel will cuddle with him properly now. In the days after his release from the ICU, Castiel treated him as though he were made of glass and seemed afraid to touch him. It was only after Noah climbed up onto Dean’s bed and made a big song and dance about lying down with him for a nap that Castiel softened and seemed to lose a bit of his fear. 

“I'm sorry you missed the wedding.”

“Cas, stop. That must be your hundredth apology, and it wasn't even your fault. Sounds like it was barely even a ceremony, anyway, and they're saving the party until the New Year. No harm done.” Plus Gabriel had YouTubed the whole thing, so Dean had managed to see his brother choke out a tearful ‘I do’ to Gabriel’s brilliantly smiling face. “Have you, uh, decided what to do for Christmas?”

He might as well bite this bullet now before Sam comes back and does something unbearably awkward like ask them both at the same time. 

“Well,” Castiel plays with their joined hands, snuggling a little closer. He's got rid of his trench coat and blazer, and Dean leans over to loosen his tie - which is, as always, on backward. “Not really. But I do have something I wanted to run past you.”

“Oh?” 

A bolt of anxiety settles in Dean’s gut. Castiel has his serious face on, and this can't be anything good.  _ He's moving out _ , his mind supplies.  _ He's found a place, and he’ll be gone before the New Year. You'll have to get used to living alone again.  _

_ “ _ Well, my realtor called this morning while I was taking Noah to school. She's found me a place in the city, right near the river. It's a townhouse, three floors. Three big bedrooms, two baths, and a rooftop garden. Plus a creepy basement which I'm sure Noah would love.” Castiel cringes a little, but Dean can't quite muster up the enthusiasm he would normally have to poke fun at his boyfriend’s delicate constitution. 

“Sounds nice. Right in town, just what you wanted.” Miles away from here.

“Yes. Five minutes from Noah’s school. It's available the week after Christmas.”

“Huh. So, are you going to go take a look at it?” He doesn't want Castiel to go and look at it. It sounds all kinds of perfect, and he's pretty sure it will be. 

“I sort of already did,” Castiel has the decency to look contrite under Dean’s shocked stare. “Ruby was downtown already, she had the keys and some free time… I went on my way into work.”

“Oh. I see.”

Castiel sounds genuinely excited about it, and his eyes light up as he grips Dean’s hand a little tighter. “It's perfect, Dean. Spacious, light, lots of room for Noah and the rooftop garden would be perfect to grow herbs and vegetables. Plus the fire system is really sound.” He coughs awkwardly. “I interrogated her about it.”

“Sounds awesome. So, you going for it or what?” Dean’s knee is starting to hurt which is actually pretty good since it distracts him from the pain of this conversation. Castiel is moving out. He knew this day would always come, but it doesn't stop it stinging like hell. 

“I’d like to. But it all hinges on one thing.”

“What's that, then?” Dean can hear Sam and Noah laughing at something in the kitchen and his heart constricts. He doesn't want to think about not hearing that laugh every day. Not waking up to Noah scrambling into bed with them, or to Cas making coffee. He doesn't want to go back to living alone. 

“You.” 

Castiel has moved to face him on the couch, is now gripping Dean’s hand in both of his, and is wearing an expression of nervous excitement that Dean has only seen on him a few times. He frowns in confusion. Him? What can Cas possibly mean? Maybe he doesn't want to leave Dean in the mess he is, and is hoping he’ll hurry up and get better so he can get on with moving out. 

“I don't want to pressure you,” Castiel is saying and there are two pink smudges on his cheeks now. “Because this is all still quite new, and I remember you said you were wary of commitment. But… I was thinking, if you were interested and if you didn't have any plans after your lease ends next month…” Castiel bites his bottom lip, then says in a hurry, “Dean, would you like to move in with me?”

Dean blinks, certain he’s misheard. Castiel looks dishevelled and nervous, holds Dean’s hand just a little tighter, and waits for an answer as Dean’s brain tries to process the question and come up with something to say in response that is more coherent than just shouting  _ YES _ at the top of his lungs.

“I know it’s really quick,” Castiel is saying as the white noise of excitement in Dean’s ears fades away. “But I love living here with you. And the thought of it just being Noah and I again… well, I know he doesn’t want that. He loves having you around. And so do I. I just…”

“Cas.” Dean shifts to face him, ignoring the twinge of pain in his knee. “I love having you around, too. I’ve been dreading you guys leaving. But you… You guys really want me to hang around?” He gestures to his knee. “I’m kinda broken.”

“You’re not broken, Dean.” Cas says fiercely. “You’re our hero. And we don’t want to have to live without you for even a moment. Please say yes.”

Dean’s smiles is so big that it hurts his cheeks, and Castiel’s matches it. He’s looking at Dean as though he hung the moon and painted the stars just for him. Dean reaches for him and kisses him deeply, snuffling out a laugh into Cas’ mouth.

“Yes, Cas. Hell yeah. I’ll move in with you guys. But I’m gonna be useless on moving day so you’ll have to hire someone to do the heavy lifting, I hope you know that.”

“I can handle that, Dean.” Castiel kisses him back and holds on tight. “I can handle anything life throws at us. We all can.”

In the kitchen, Sam and Noah are laughing at something together and Dean’s heart has never felt so full.

The house is just as bright and airy as Castiel remembers it. He had unlocked the door with barely-contained excitement, Noah almost vibrating at his side, and Dean at his heels, and now they're inside and his son is tearing from room to room, whooping loudly with delight.

“And this is the kitchen… And this is the living room… Daddy, it’s huge!”

“What do you think, Dean?” He’s a little nervous, now that they're here. Nervous that Dean might not like it as much as he does.  But that nervousness is short-lived at the sight of the dazzling grin on Dean’s handsome face. Noah shoots past them like a bolt of lightning, heading for the stairs. “Do you like it? Can you picture us here?”

“And this is the hallway… And… Daddy? Daddy! There's a basement!”

Castiel smiles, unwinding his scarf from around his neck and hanging it on the end of the bannister rail along with his coat. Dean’s battered leather joins it, and they make their way slowly deeper into the house, Castiel watching Dean’s face carefully for his reaction. 

“Holy shit, Cas. This place is incredible!” They walk into the kitchen and Dean’s eyes almost bug out of his head. It's huge and sprawling with the kind of gadgets that Castiel barely recognises and will probably never use, but the developer clearly had a favourite room and it was this one. The door to the basement stands open and they can hear Noah’s excited whoops floating up the steps. 

“Noah?” Dean leans heavily against the doorframe, shouting down to him. “Come upstairs. Don't you want to see your bedroom?”

“My bedroom!” Noah is at the top of the stairs and pushing past Dean in a heartbeat and Castiel catches him by the back of his hoodie and pulls him to a halt. 

“Calm down. You almost knocked Dean over. The house isn't going anywhere, you don't need to tear about like this.”

“Sorry, Daddy. Sorry, Dean.” Noah glares at the floor, cheeks red, until Castiel releases him and they all walk together back into the hallway. 

“Go on, Noah. You go up first. See if you can work out which bedroom is yours.” Dean smiles at him and Noah practically vibrates with excitement. 

“Okay!” He shouts at top volume, then he's gone, practically leaving skid marks in his wake. 

“He's just excited, Cas.” Dean throws his arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “It's cute.”

“It is, you’re right.” Castiel winds his arm around Dean’s waist and leans into him, sighing as he inhales the familiar scent of his cologne and shampoo. He feels Dean press a kiss into his hair and presses a little closer, enjoying the warmth of the other man’s body heat. “Let’s go make sure he isn’t trying to steal the master bedroom for his own.”

Noah adores the room Castiel had in mind for him. It has a window seat and looks out into the street, and he knows Noah will spend hours sitting there watching cars go past and naming the makes and models and writing down any he doesn’t recognise to research later. He and Dean have bonded over cars, and Dean’s love for his vintage Impala has rubbed off on Noah, and he treats the car with reverence and awe, stroking it’s gleaming bodywork and sitting in the driver’s seat with wide eyes. He can spend ages touching everything on the dashboard, running his fingers across the leather seats, and pretending he’s driving the car, while Dean washes and waxes it and sits back to watch him play.

Now, Dean is standing in what will be their master bedroom, staring out of the window with a sweet, contemplative smile on his face. He's still on crutches, his knee taking longer to heal than expected, and Castiel’s heart constricts with love as he gazes at his boyfriend. Dean is in his oldest, softest pair of worn jeans and a ribbed khaki Henley, hair the longest it's ever been since Castiel has known him and three days worth of stubble adorning his face, and he looks almost sinfully handsome in the warm morning light. His neck and jaw are marred now with fresh burn scars, which glow an ugly red, but Castiel barely notices them. All he sees is Dean, his Dean. 

January has dawned bright and crisp, with clear blue skies and the air cold and fresh like toothpaste, biting at their lips and fingers, and Castiel has never been happier. He joins Dean beside the window, gazing down at the yard which stretches out into a lawn and flowerbeds that Castiel can’t wait to tend in summer. He can picture a new swing set and jungle gym for Noah, can imagine himself and Dean putting it all together, can perfectly imagine Sam and Gabriel coming over for barbecues and Gabriel hitting it off with Balthazar, the pair of them becoming thick as thieves. He imagines his cousins Michael and Anna playing with Noah, and the way Noah loves to place both his hands on Anna’s pregnant belly and talk to the baby growing inside her. He can picture it all perfectly, and he’s so in love with the idea of it all that he hopes fervently that Dean is as excited as he is.

“Do you like it, Dean?” He asks, barely able to keep the nerves from his voice. “Can you see us living here together?”

Dean doesn’t answer right away. He stares out of the window at the garden, the frost glinting on the lawn and the bare branches of the trees, and at the fog of his breath on the window. Then he reaches out and takes Castiel’s hand, pulling him close and wrapping an arm around his waist, leaning hard on his crutches and grimacing with barely-concealed discomfort. Down the hall, they can hear Noah talking to himself, and they exchange fond smiles.

“Well?” After almost a minute of silence, Castiel prompts him again, this time with anxiety clearly bleeding into his words. “Is it what you thought? Do you think we’ll be happy here?”

“The house is beautiful, Cas.” Dean’s voice is an octave lower, husky, and Castiel frowns up at him. What’s wrong? It sounds like there’s a ‘but’ on the way and his heart leaps into his throat as he waits for Dean to continue. “But…”

“But?” Reflexively, Castiel’s grip tightens where he’s holding onto Dean’s hand. He swallows around the lump in his throat. “There’s a but?”

He knew he shouldn’t have got so excited so quickly. He’s got too ahead of himself, asking Dean to move in. It’s too much too fast, and he’s scared the other man. He can feel panic mounting in him and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Dean notices and his brow furrows; he turns and cups Castiel’s jaw, drawing him closer and pressing a kiss to his mouth.

“But I would be happy with you anywhere. Here, my place, a cardboard box under a bridge.” He rubs their noses together and Castiel melts into him. “I, uh. I love you.” Pink dusting appears on Dean’s cheeks but he perseveres. “I’m in love with you. I’ve known for a while, after the fire I think. Maybe before. But I didn’t wanna freak you out by saying it. But moving in together is kinda a big step and I just want you to know that I’m in this for the long haul. I, uhm, I see a future here.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just love you, Cas. Is… Is that okay?”

For a moment, Castiel can’t answer. The words from Dean’s lips are ones he’s been dreaming of hearing for weeks now, ones he has been hoping and praying Dean will say one day. Because he feels it too, has done for a long time. He can’t pinpoint the day he fell in love with Dean Winchester, but he can pin down to the second the day he realised it. It was when Dean turned to him, eyes wide and frightened in the smoke-filled night air, then turned and ran back into their burning house to save his son. He put Noah and Cas above his own safety, and Castiel has felt as though his heart could burst with love every day since, just from looking at Dean. He can’t help it: a wide smile spreads across his face and he leans in for a deep, messy kiss, laughing into it as Dean holds onto him for stability.

“It’s more than okay, Dean. I love you, too.”

“Really?” Dean’s green eyes are sparkling, and he has that childish glow of excitement emanating from him as he grins back, freckles popping and eyes crinkling at the corners. “You mean it?”   
“Of course I mean it!” Castiel can’t help the bubble of laughter that spills from him. Happiness is flooding through him and he clings to Dean, kissing him over and over as though he can’t help himself. “I love you. I love you!”

“I love you, Cas. Damn, I love you so much. And Noah. And this house!” Dean gestures to the bedroom. “God. We’re gonna be so fucking happy here.”

“We are, Dean. We really, really are.”

“Daddy!” Noah comes skidding into the room. “When can I move my bed in? And my bookcase? And all my toys? Can we sleep here tonight? I love it, I love it!”

The smiles on all their faces are radiant, and the boy scampers closer, flushed with joy. Castiel catches him and spins him around, stopping next to Dean and wrapping an arm around his waist. Noah looks up then copies him, one arm at his father’s waist and one at Dean’s, his little face glowing with happiness. And Dean’s smile could light up the world. 

“Welcome home, Cas.”

“Welcome home, Dean.”

And, together, “Welcome home, Noah.”

_ Fin. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. My first DCBB is complete! I'm already looking forward to next year!


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